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0 



MRS. L. T. MEADE 




A 


YOUNG MUTINEER 

A STORY FOR GIRLS 

t 


BY 


L. T, MEADE ^.5^* 


A.UTHOR OF “ A WORLD OF GIRLS,” “ LADY OF THE FOREST,* 
“ LITTLE PRINCESS OF TOWER HILL,” “ PALACE BEAU- 
TIFUL,” “ POLLY, A NEW-FASHIONED GIRL,” 

“SWEET GIRL GRADUATE,” ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GORDON BROWNE 


\ 



NEW YORK : 

HURST & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 




// 










A- 


TZ-J 

r 


JL. To MBADB SBRIBS. 

UNIFORM WITH 

THIS VOLUME. 

By MRS. L. T. MEADE. 

Daddy’s Girl. 

Polly, a New- 

Dr. Rmnsey’s Patient. 

Fashioned Girl. 

Gay Charmer, A, 

Rebels of the School. 

Girl in Ten Thousand, A. 

Sweet Girl Graduate, A. 

Girls of the True Blue. 

Very Naughty Girl, A. 

Merry Girls of England. 

Wild Kitty. 

Miss Nonentity. 

World of Girls. 

Palace Beautiful. 

Young Mutineers, The. 

Post-Paid^ joc. 

eachf or any three 

books for 

HURST & 

COMPANY 

Publishers. 

New York. 




TO 

MY LITTLE GIRL, HOPE. 

THE REAL JUDY, 


October S3, 1893, 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAOR 

I. An Old-Fashioned Little Pair. 7 

II. The People who get Married 16 

III. A Question and an Answer 24 

IV. Changes 31 

V. In a Garden 42 

VI. The Eve of the Wedding 53 

VII. A Wedding Present. 64 

VIII. Honeymoon 70 

IX. Stared 77 

X. Waiting 89 

XI. Husband and Wife 97 

XH. Hilda’s Engagement Ring Ill 

XHI. Judy’s Room 116 

XIV. The Little Rift 128 

XV. Three is Trumpery 137 

XVI. A Little Girl and a Little Cross 144 

XVII. Judy’s Secret 153 

XVIH. Giant-Killer 164 

XIX. Good Omens 185 



A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


CHAPTER I. 


AN OLD-FASHIONED LITTLE PAIR. 

Sun and shower — sun and shower — 

Now rough, now smooth, is the winding way; 
Thorn and flower — thorn and flower — 

Which will you gather? Who can say? 

Wayward hearts, there’s a world for your winning. 
Sorrow and laughter, love or woe: 

Who can tell in the day’s beginning 

The paths that your wandering feet shall go? 

— Maby Macleod. 


The village choir was practicing in the church 
— ^their voices, somewhat harsh and uncultivated, 
were sending forth volumes of sound into the sum- 
mer air. The church doors were thrown open, and 
a young man dressed in cricketing-flannels was 
leaning against the porch. He was tall and 
square-shouldered, with closely-cropped dark hair, 
and a keen, intelligent face. 

When the music became very loud and discordant 
he moved impatiently, but as the human voices 
ceased and the sweet notes of the voluntary sounded 
in full melody on the little organ, a look of relief 
swept like a soothing hand over his forehead. 

7 


8 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


The gates of the rectory were within a stone’s 
throw of the church. Up the avenue three people 
might have been seen advancing. Two were chil- 
dren, one an adult. The grown member of this 
little group was tall and slight; she wore spectacles, 
and although not specially gifted with wisdom, pos- 
sessed a particularly wise appearance. The two little 
girls, who were her pupils, walked somewhat sedately 
by her side. As they passed the church the governess 
looked neither to right nor left, but the eldest girl 
fixed her ke^n and somewhat hungry eyes with a 
questioning gaze on the young man who stood in the 
porch. He nodded back to her a glance full of in- 
telligence, which he further emphasized by a quick 
and somewhat audacious wink from his left eye. The 
little girl walked on loftily; she thought that Jasper 
Quentyns, who was more or less a stranger in the 
neighborhood, had taken a distinct liberty. 

“What’s the matter, Judy?” asked the smallest 
of the girls. 

“Nothing,” replied Judy quickly. She turned to 
her governess as she spoke. “ Miss Mills, I was very 
good at my lessons to-day, wasn’t I ? ” 

“Yes, Judy.” 

“You are not going to forget what you promised 
me? ” 

“ I am afraid I do forget ; what was it ? ” 

“ You said if I were really good I might stop at 
the church on my way back and go home with Hilda. 
I have been good, so I may go home with Hilda, may 
I not?” 

“ Yes, child, of course, if I promised, but we are 
only just on our walk now. It is a fine autumnal 
day, and I want to get to the woods to pick some 
bracken and heather, for your Aunt Marjorie has 
asked me to fill all the vases for dinner to-night. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


9 


There are not half enough flowers in the garden, so 
I must go to the woods, whatever happens. Your 
sister will have left the church when we return, 
Judy.” 

“No, she won’t,” replied Judy. “The practice 
will be twice as long as usual to-day because of the 
Harvest Festival on Sunday.” 

“ Well, if she is there you can go in and wait for 
her, as you have been a good girl. Now let us talk 
of something else.” 

“I have nothing else to talk about,” answered 
J udy, somewhat sulkily. 

The bright expression which gave her small eager 
face its charm left it; she fell back a pace or two, 
and Miss Mills walked on alone in front. 

Judy was not popular with her governess. Miss 
Mills was tired of her constant remarks about Hilda. 
She had a good deal to think of to-day, and she was 
pleased to let her two pupils amuse themselves. 

Judy’s hungry and unsatisfied eyes softened and 
grew happy when their gaze fell upon Bahs. Babs 
was only six, and she had a power of interesting 
every one with whom she came in contact. Her 
wise, fat face, somewhat solemn in expression, was 
the essence of good-humor. Her blue eyes were as 
serene as an unruffled summer pool. She could say 
heaps of old-fashioned, quaint things. She had 
strong likes and dislikes, but she was never known to 
be cross. She adored Judy, but Judy only liked her, 
for all Judy’s passionate love was already disposed 
of. It centered itself round her eldest sister, Hilda. 

The day was a late one in September. The air 
was still very balmy, and even warm, and Miss Mills 
soon found herself sufficiently tired to be glad to 
take advantage of a stile which led right through 
the field into the woods to rest herself. She sat com- 


10 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


fortably on the top of the stile, and looking down the 
road saw that her little pupils were disporting them- 
selves happily; they were not in the slightest dan- 
ger, and she was in no hurry to call them to her 
side. 

Children are the most fagging creatures in 
Christendom,’^ she said to herself; ‘‘for my part I 
can’t understand any one going into raptures over 
them. For one nice child there are twenty disagree- 
able ones. I have nothing to say against Babs, of 
course; but Judy, she is about the most spoiled 
creature I ever came across, and of course it is all 
Hilda’s fault. I must speak to Mr. Merton, I really 
must, if this goes on. Hilda and Judy ought to be 
parted, but of course Hilda won’t leave home un- 
less, unless — ah, I wonder if there is any chance of 
that. Too good news to be true. Too good luck 
for Mr. Quentyns, an3^how. I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if he is trying to get Hilda all this time, but 
— he is scarcely likely to succeed. Poor Judy ! what 
a blow an3rthing of that kind would be to her; but 
of course there is not the least chance of it.” 

Miss Mills took off her hat as she spoke, and 
allowed the summer air to play with her somewhat 
thin fringe and to cool her heated cheeks. 

“ I hate children,” she soliloquized. “ I did hope 
that my time of servitude was nearly over, but when 
men prove so unfaithful ! ” Here a very angry gleam 
flashed out of her eyes; she put her hand into her 
pocket, and taking out a letter read it slowly and 
carefully. Her expression was not pleasant while 
she perused the words on the closely written page. 

She had just returned the letter to its envelope 
when a gay voice sounded in her ears. A girl was 
seen walking across the field and approaching the 
stile. She was a fair-haired, pretty girl, dressed in 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


n 


the height of the fashion. She had a merry laugh, 
and a merry voice, and two very bright blue 
eyes. 

How do you do, Miss Mills ? she called to her. 

I am going to see Hilda. Can you tell me if she is 
at home ? ’’ 

How do you do, Miss Anstruther ? ’’ replied Miss 
Mills ; I did not know you had returned.^^ 

Yes, we all came home yesterday. I am longing 
to see Hilda, I have such heaps of things to tell her. 
Is she at the rectory ? 

At the present moment she is very busily em- 
ployed trying to train the most unmelodious choir 
in Great Britain,^’ replied Miss Mills. The Har- 
vest Festival takes place on Sunday, and in conse- 
quence she has more than usual to do.” 

^^Ah, you need not tell me; I am not going to 
venture within sound of that choir. I shall go down 
to the rectory and wait until her duties are ended. 
There is not the least hurry. Good-by, Miss Mills. 
Are the children well ? ” 

‘‘You can see for yourself,” replied Miss Mills; 
“ they are coming up the road side by side.” 

“ Old-fashioned little pair,” replied Miss An- 
struther, with a laugh. “ I’ll just run down the road 
and give them a kiss each, and then go on to the 
rectory.” 

Miss Mills did not say anything further. Miss 
Anstruther mounted the stile, called out to the 
children to announce her approach, kissed them 
when they met, received an earnest gaze from Judy 
and an indifferent one from Babs, and went on her 
way. 

“Do you like her, Judy?” asked Babs, when the 
pretty girl had left them. 

“Oh, yes,” replied Judy in a careless tone; “she 


12 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


is well enough. I don’t love her, if that’s what you 
mean, Babs.” 

Of course it isn’t what I mean,” replied Babs. 

How many rooms have you in your heart, J udy ? ” 

One big room quite full,” replied Judy with 
emphasis. 

I know — it’s full of Hilda.” 

" It is.” 

I have got a good many rooms in my heart,” 
said Babs. Mr. Love is in some of them, and Mr. 
Like is in others. Have you no room in your heart 
for Mr. Like, J udy ? ” 

Then poor Miss Mills does not live in your heart 
at all?” 

Ho. Oh, dear, what a long walk she’s going to 
take us to-day. If I had known that this morning 
I wouldn’t have taken so much pains over my arith- 
metic. I shan’t have a scrap of time with Hilda. 
It is too bad. I am sure Miss Mills does it to worry 
me. She never can bear us to be together.” 

Poor Judy,” replied Babs. I shan’t let Miss 
Mills live in my heart at all if she vexes you; but 
oh dear, oh dear, look, do look! do you see that 
monstrous spider over there, the one with the sun 
shining on his web ? ” 

Yes.” 

Don’t you love spiders ? ” 

Of course. I love all animals. I have a separate 
heart for animals.” 

Babs looked intensely interested. 

love all animals too,” she said, every single 
one, all kinds — even pigs. Don’t you love pigs, 
Judy?” 

Of course I do.” 

I wonder if Miss Mills does ? There she is, read- 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


13 


ing her letter. She has read it twenty times already 
to-day, so she must kn':w it by heart now. Lefs run 
up and ask her if she loves pigs.” 

Judy quickened her steps, and the two little girls 
presently reached tne stile. 

Miss Mills,” said Babs, in her clear voice, we 
want to know something very badly. Do you love 
pigs?” 

Do I love pigs ? ” asked Miss Mills with a start. 

You ridiculous child, what nonsense you are talk- 
ing ! ” 

But do you ? ” repeated Babs. It is most im- 
portant for J udy and me to know ; for we love them, 
poor things — we think they’re awfully nice.” 

Miss Mills laughed in the kind of manner which 
always irritated Judy. 

I am sorry not to be able to join your very 
peculiar hero-worship, my dears,” she said. I can’t 
say that I am attached to the pig.” 

Then it is very wrong of you,” said Judy, her 
eyes flashing, ^^when you think of all the poor pig 
does for you.” 

Of all the poor pig does for me ! What next? ” 

Y"ou wouldn’t be the woman you are but for the 
pig,” said Judy. Don’t you eat him every day of 
your life for breakfast? You wouldn’t be as strong 
as you are but for the poor pig, and the least you can 
do is to love him. I don’t suppose he likes being 
killed to oblige you.” 

Judy’s great eyes were flashing, and her little sen- 
sitive mouth was quivering. 

Miss Mills gave her a non-comprehending glance. 
She could not in the least fathom the child’s queer, 
passionate nature. Injustice of all sorts preyed 
upon Judy; she could make herself morbid on almost 
any theme, and a gloomy picture now filled her little 


14 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


soul. The animals were giving up their lives for the 
human race, and the humar race did not even give 
them affection in return. 

Is that letter very funny ? ‘ asked Babs. 

It is not funny, but it is interesting to me.’’ 

Do you love the person who wrote it to you ? ” 

Miss Mills let the sheet of closely-written paper 
fall upon her lap; her eyes gazed into the child’s 
serene and wise little face. Something impelled her 
to say words which she knew could not be understood. 

I hate the person who wrote that letter more 
than anyone else in all the world,” she exclaimed. 

There was a passionate ring in her thin voice. 
The emotion which filled her voice and shone out 
of her eyes gave pathos to her commonplace face. 
Babs began to pull a flower to pieces. She had 
never conjugated the verb to hate, and did not know 
in the least what it meant; but Judy looked at her 
governess with new interest. 

Why do you get letters from the person you 
hate so much ? ” she asked. 

Don’t ask any more questions,” replied Miss 
Mills. She folded up the sheet of paper, slipped 
it into its envelope, replaced the envelope in her 
pocket, and started to her feet. ^^Let us continue 
our walk,” she said. We shall reach the woods 
in five minutes if we are quick.” 

^^But,” said Judy, as they went down the path 
across the field, I should like to know. Miss Mills, 
why you get letters from a person you hate.” 

When little girls ask troublesome questions they 
must not expect them to be answered,” responded 
Miss Mills. 

Judy was silent. The faint passing interest she 
had experienced died out of her face, and the rather 
sulky, unsatisfied expression returned to it. 


A TfOtTNa MlTTlNEElt. 15 

Miss Mills, whose heart was very full of something, 
spoke again, more to herself than to the children. 

If there is one bigger mistake than another,” she 
said, it is the mistake of being fond of any one. 
Oh, how silly girls are when they get engaged to be 
married ! ” 

“ What’s that ? ” asked Babs. 

^‘1 know,” said Judy, who was again all curiosity 
and interest. I’ll tell you another time about it, 
Babs. Miss Hicks in the village was engaged, and 
she had a wedding in the summer. I’ll tell you all 
about it, Babs, if you ask me when we are going to 
bed to-night. Please, Miss Mills, why is it dreadful 
to be engaged to be married ? ” 

“ Your troubles begin then,” said Miss Mills. Oh, 
don’t talk to me about it, children. May you never 
understand what I am suffering ! Oh, the fickleness 
of some people! The promises that are made only 
to be broken ! You trust a person, and you are ever 
so happy; and then you find that you have made a 
great big mistake, and you are miserable.” 

‘‘ Is that you. Miss Mills ? Are you the miserable 
person ? ” asked J udy. 

Ho, no, child; I didn’t say it was me. I wasn’t 
talking of any one in particular, and I shouldn’t 
even have said what I did. Forget it, Judy — forget 
it, Babs. Come, let us collect the ferns.” 

Suppose we find some white heather,” said Babs 
eagerly. 

And much that’s worth, too,” replied Miss Mills. 
‘‘1 found a piece last summer. I gave — ” She 
sighed, and the corners of her mouth drooped. She 
looked as if she were going to cry. 


16 


A YOOTG MUTINEER 


CHAPTEK 11. 


THE PEOPLE WHO GET MARRIED. 

Thou wert mine — all mine! .... 

— Where has summer fled? 

Sun forgets to shine, 

Clouds are overhead; 

Blows a chilling blast, 

Tells my frightened heart 
That the hour at last 
Comes when we must part. 

Hurrying moments, stay. 

Leave us yet alone! — 

All the world grows gray. 

Love, when thou art flown. 

Judy’s soul swelled within her when she heard the 
music still sending volumes of sound out of the little 
church. Miss Mills had not spoken all the way home. 
Babs had chattered without a moment’s intermission. 
Her conversation had been entirely about birds and 
beasts and creeping things. Judy had replied with 
rather less interest than usual. She was so anxious to 
hurry home, so fearful of being too late. Now it was 
all right. Hilda was still in the church, and, delight- 
ful — more than delightful — ^the discordant notes of 
the choir had ceased, and only the delicious sounds of 
the organ were borne on the breeze. 

Hilda is in the church,” said Judy, pulling her 
governess by her sleeve. Good-by, Miss Mills ; good- 
by, Babs.” 

She rushed away, scarcely heeding her governess’ 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 17 

voice as it called after her to be sure to be back at the 
rectory in time for tea. 

The church doors were still open, but the young 
man in the cricketing-flannels, who had stood in the 
porch when Judy had started on her walk, was no 
longer to be seen. The little girl stole into the r^uiet 
church on tiptoe, crept up to her sister Hilda’s side, 
and lying down on the floor, laid her head on her sis- 
ter’s white dress. 

Judy’s lips kissed the hem of the dress two or 
three times; then she lay quiet, a sweet expression 
round her lips, a tranquil, satisfied light in her eyes. 
Here she was at rest, her eager, craving heart was full 
and satisfied. 

You dear little monkey ! ” said Hilda, pausing 
for a moment in her really magnificent rendering of 
one of Bach’s most passionate fugues. She touched 
the child’s head lightly with her hand as she spoke. 

Oh, don’t stop, Hilda ; go on. I am so happy,” 
whispered J udy back. 

Hilda smiled, and immediately resumed the music 
which thrilled through and through Judy’s soul. 

Hilda was eighteen, and the full glory and bloom 
of this perfect age surrounded her; it shone in her 
dark red-brown hair, and gleamed in her brown eyes, 
and smiled on her lips, and even echoed from her 
sweet voice. Hilda would always be lovely to look at, 
but she had the tender radiance of early spring about 
her now. Judy was not the only person who thought 
her the fairest creature in the world. 

While she was playing, and the influence of the 
music was more and more filling her face, there came 
a shadow across the church door. The shadow length- 
ened and grew longer, and the young man, whose 
smile Judy had ignored, came softly across the church 
and up to Hilda’s side. 


18 


A VOUNa MtTTlNfifiR. 


Go on playing/’ he said, nodding to her. I 
have been waiting and listening. I can wait and 
listen a little longer if you will allow me to sit in 
the church.” 

I shall have done in a moment,” said Hilda. " I 
just want to choose something for the final volun- 
tary.” She took up a book of lighter music as she 
spoke, and selecting some of Haydn’s sweet and gra- 
cious melodies, began to play. 

Judy stirred restlessly. Jasper Quentyns came 
closer, so close that his shadow fell partly over the 
child as she lay on the ground, and quite shut away 
the evening sunlight as it streamed over Hilda’s 
figure. Jasper was a musician himself, and he made 
comments which were listened to attentively. 

Hilda played the notes as he directed her. 
She brought added volume into certain passages, 
she rendered the light staccato notes with pre- 
cision. 

Oh, you are spoiling the playing,” said J udy sud- 
denly. She started up, knitting her black brows and 
glaring angrily at Jasper Quentyns. 

You don’t mean to say you are here all the time, 
you little puss,” he exclaimed. I thought you and 
Miss Mills and Babs were miles away by now. Why, 
what’s the matter, child? Why do you frown at me 
as if I were an ogre ? ” 

Hilda put her arm round Judy’s waist. The con- 
tact of Hilda’s arm was like balm to the child; she 
smiled and held out her hand penitently. 

Of course I don’t think you are an ogre,” she 
said, ‘‘but I do wish you would let Hilda play her 
music her own way.” 

“ Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Judy,” said Hilda ; 
“you quite forget that Mr. Quentyns knows a great 
deal more about music than I do.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 19 

He doesn’t play half nor quarter as well as you, 
for all that,” replied Judy, with emphasis. 

Hilda bent forward and kissed her little sister on 
her forehead. 

We won’t have any more music at present,” she 
said; it is time for us to return to the house. You 
are ^oing to dine at the rectory this evening, are you 
not, Mr. Quentyns ? ” 

‘‘ If you will have me.” 

Of course we shall all be delighted to have you.” 

Hilda,” said J udy, do you know that Mildred 
Anstruther is down at the house waiting to see you ? ” 

A faint shadow of disappointment flitted across 
Hilda Merton’s face — an additional wave of color 
mounted to Jasper Quentyns’ brow. He looked at 
Hilda to see if she had noticed it ; Hilda turned from 
him and began to arrange her music. 

Come,” she said, we mustn’t keep Mildred wait- 
ing.” 

“What has she come for?” asked Jasper, as the 
three walked down the shady avenue. 

“ Y^ou know you are glad to see her,” replied Hilda 
suddenly. 

Something in her tone caused J asper to laugh and 
raise his brows in mock surprise. J udy looked eagerly 
from one face to the other. Her heart began to beat 
with fierce dislike to Jasper. What right had he to 
interfere with Hilda’s music, and above all things, 
what right had he to bring that tone into Hilda’s be- 
loved voice ? 

Judy clasped her sister’s arm with a tight pres- 
sure. In a few minutes they reached the old-fash- 
ioned and cozy rectory. 

The rector was pacing about in the pleasant even- 
ing sunshine, and Mildred Anstruther was walking 
by his side and chatting to him. 


20 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Oh, here you are,’^ said Mildred, running up to 
her friend and greeting her with affection ; and you 
have come too, Mr. Quentyns? — this is a delightful 
surprise.’^ 

^‘You had better run into the house now, Judy,’^ 
said Hilda. Yes, darling, go at once.^^ 

May I come down after dinner to-night, Hilda ? ” 
You look rather pale, Judy, and as we are having 
friends to dinner it may be best for you to go to bed 
early, said another voice. It proceeded from the 
comfortable, good-natured mouth of Aunt Marjorie. 

Yo, no, Aunt Maggie, you won^t send me to bed. 
Hilda, 3 ^ouT 1 plead for me, won’t you ? ” gasped J udy. 

“ I think she may come down just for half an hour, 
auntie,” said Hilda, smiling. 

‘^Well, child, it must be as you please; of course 
we all know who spoils Judy.” 

Of course we all know who loves J udy,” said 
Hilda. Yow are you satisfied, my sweet? Run 
away ; be the best of good children. Eat a hearty tea ; 
don’t think of any trouble. Oh, Judy, what a frown 
you have between your brows; let me kiss it away. 
I’ll find you in the drawing-room after dinner.” 

And you’ll come and talk to me if only for one 
minute. Promise, promise, Hilda.” 

“Of course I promise; now run off.” 

Judy went slowly away. She thought the grown 
people very unkind to dismiss her. She was in- 
terested in all people who were grown up; she had 
not a great deal of sympathy with children — she felt 
that she did not quite belong to them. The depth 
of her thoughts, the intense pathos of her unsatis- 
fied affections were incomprehensible to most chil- 
dren. Hilda understood her perfectly, and even Aunt 
Marjorie and her father were more agreeable compan- 
ions than Miss Mills and Babs. 


A YOtrm MtrTlNEfiR. 




There was no help for it, however. Judy was a 
schoolroom child, and back to the schoolroom and 
to Miss Mills’ dull society she must go. Swinging 
her hat on her arm she walked slowly down the 
long, cool stone passage which led from the princi- 
pal hall to the schoolroom regions. A maidservant 
of the name of Susan hurried past her with the tray 
which contained the schoolroom tea in her hands. 

You must be quick. Miss Judy, I am bringing 
in the tea,” she said. 

Judy frowned. She did not think it at all neces- 
sary for Susan to remind her of her rather disagree- 
able duties. Instead of hurrying to the schoolroom 
she stood still and looked out of one of the windows. 
The words Miss Mills had uttered as they walked 
across the fields to the wood kept returning to her 
memory. In some curious, undefined, uncomfortable 
way she connected them with her sister Hilda. What 
did they mean? Why was it dreadful to be engaged 
to be married ? Why were some people so fickle, and 
why were promises broken? Judy had never seen 
Miss Mills so excited before. 

She looked quite interesting when she spoke in 
that voice,” said Judy to herself. ^^What did she 
mean ? what could she mean ? She said it was dread- 
ful to be married, and dreadful to be engaged. I 
think I’ll go and ask Mrs. Sutton. I don’t care if I 
am a bit late for tea. The worst Miss Mills will do 
is to give me some poetry to learn, and I like learn- 
ing poetry. Yes, I’ll go and see Mrs. Sutton. She 
was married twice, so she must have been engaged 
twice. She must know all — all about it. She’s a 
much better judge than Miss Mills, who never was 
married at all.” 

Judy opened a baize door which shut behind her 
with a bang. She went down a few steps, and a 


A YOtJNG MUTINEER. 


22 

moment later was standing in a comfortably fur- 
nished sitting-room which belonged to the house- 
keeper, Mrs. Sutton. 

Mrs. Sutton was a stout, portly old lady. She had 
twinkling good-humored eyes, a mouth which smiled 
whenever she looked at a child, and a constant habit 
of putting her hand into her pocket and taking out a 
lollipop. This lollipop found its way straight into the 
receptive mouth of any small creature of the human 
race who came in her way. 

that you, Miss Judy?^’ she said now, turning 
round and setting down her own cup of strong tea. 

Come along, my pet, and give me a kiss. What 
do you say to this ? She held a pink sugarstick 
between her finger and thumb. suppose youfil 
want another for Miss Babs, bless her ! 

^^Yes, thank you, Sutton,’^ replied Judy. ^^Will 
you lay them on the table, please, and Ifil take them 
when I am going away. Sutton, I want ta talk to you 
about a very private matter.” 

^^Well, darling — ^bless your dear heart, your se- 
crets are safe enough with me.” 

Oh, it isnT exactly a secret, Sutton — it is some- 
thing I want to know. Is it a dreadful thing to be 
engaged to be married ? ” 

Bless us and save us ! ” said Mrs. Sutton. She 
fiopped down again on her seat, and her red face 
grew purple. Are you quite well. Miss Judy? You 
haven’t been reading naughty books now, that you 
shouldn’t open ? What could put such thoughts into 
the head of a little miss like you ? ” 

Please answer me, Sutton, it is most important — 
is it dreadful to be engaged to be married? and are 
people fickle ? and the promises broken ? ” 

But, my dear ” 

‘^Will you answer me, dear, kind Sutton 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 23 

Well, Miss Judy, well — anything to please you, 
dearie — it all depends.’^ 

What does it depend on ? ” 

Taken from the female point of view, it depends 
on the sort the young man is; but, my darling, it’s 
many and many a long day before you need worrit 
yourself with such matters.” 

But I want to know,” persisted Judy. People 
do get married. You were married twice yourself, 
Sutton ; you told me so once.” 

So I was, dear, and both my wedding-gowns are 
in a trunk upstairs. My first was a figured sateen, 
a buff-colored ground with red flowers thrown over 
it. My second was a gray poplin. I was supposed 
to do very well with my second marriage. Miss 
Judy.” 

Then you were twice engaged, and twice mar- 
ried,” said Judy. I don’t want to hear about the 
wedding-gowns, Sutton. I am rather in a hurry. I 
want you to tell me about the other things. What 
were they like — the being engaged, and the being 
married? Was the person fickle, and did he break 
his promise? ” 

For some reason or other Mrs. Sutton’s face 
became so deeply flushed that she looked quite 
angry. 

I’ll tell you what it is. Miss J udy,” she said, 
some one is putting thoughts into your head what 
oughtn’t to do it. You are a motherless child, and 
there’s some one filling your head with arrant non- 
sense. What do you know about engagements and 
— and disappointments, and dreams what proves but 
early mists of the morning? What do you know of 
fickleness, and broken promises? There, child, you 
won’t get any of that bad sort of knowledge out of 
me. Now you run away, dearie. There’s some qne 


24 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


been talking about what they oughtn’t to, and you has 
no call to listen, my pet. There’s some weddings 
happy, and there’s some that ain’t, and that’s all I 
can say. Run away now, Miss J udy.” 


CHAPTER HI. 

A QUESTION" AND AN ANSWER. 

When some beloved voice that was to you 
Both sound and sweetness faileth suddenly, 

And silence against which you dare not cry 
Aches round you like a strong disease and new — 
What hope? what help? what music will undo 
That silence to your sense? 

— E. Barrett-Browning. 

Hilda Merton stood in a rather irresolute fashion 
in her bedroom. Several people were coming to dine 
at the rectory that night, and she, as the young mis- 
tress of the establishment, ought to be in the draw- 
ing-room even now waiting to receive her guests. 
The rector was a very wealthy man, and all those lux- 
uries surrounded Hilda which are the portion of those 
who are gently nurtured and well-born. Her maid 
had left the room, the young girl’s simple white dress 
was arranged to perfection, her lovely hair was 
coiled becomingly around her shapely head. She was 
standing before her looking-glass putting the final 
touches to her toilet. 

For some reason they took a long time to put. 
Hilda gazed into the reflection of her own pretty face 
as if she saw it not. Her brown eyes looked through 
the mirrored eyes in the glass with aii almost ab- 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 25 

stracted expression. Suddenly a smile flitted across 
her face. 

“ ril do it/^ she exclaimed. I’ll wear his white 
rose. He may think what he pleases. I — I do love 
him with all my heart and soul.” 

She blushed as she uttered these last words, and 
looked in a half-frightened way across the room, as 
if by chance some one might have overheard her. 

The next moment the white rose was snugly peep- 
ing out from among the coils of her rich hair. Her 
dress was fastened at the throat with a pearl brooch. 
She was in simple white from top to toe. 

How late you are, Hilda,” said Aunt Marjorie. 

I was getting quite nervous. You know I hate to 
be alone in the drawing-room when our visitors come ; 
and really, my love, what a simple dress — nothing but 
a washing muslin. Did not you hear your father say 
that the dean and Mrs. Sparks were coming to dinner 
to-night ? ” 

Of course I did. Aunt Marjorie. The cook also 
knows that the dean is coming to dine. Now don’t 
fret, there’s a dear. I look nice, don’t I ? That’s the 
main thing.” 

Yes, Hilda, you look beautiful,” said Aunt Mar- 
jorie solemnly; *^but after all, when you have a new 
pink chiffon and — and 

'^Hush, auntie dear, I see the dean stepping out 
of his brougham.” 

The other guests followed the dean and Mrs. 
Sparks almost immediately. Dinner was announced, 
and the party withdrew to the dinning-room. 

Hilda, in her white dress with her happy, sun- 
shiny face, was the principal object of attraction at 
this dinner. There were two or three young men 
present, and they looked at her a good deal. Jasper 
Quentyns favored her with one quick glance* he was 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


sitting at the far end of the table, and a very pretty 
girl was placed at his side. He saw the rose in 
Hilda’s hair, and his heart beat quickly; his spirits 
rose several degrees, and he became so delightful and 
communicative to his neighbor that she thought him 
quite the pleasantest and handsomest man she had 
ever met. 

Quentyns did not glance again at Hilda. He was 
satisfied, for he felt pretty sure that a certain ques- 
tion which he meant to ask would be answered in the 
way he wished. 

The dinner came to an end, and the ladies with- 
drew into the drawing-room. Two little figures in 
white dresses were waiting to receive them. Babs 
trotted everywhere, and was universally admired, 
petted, and praised. Judy stood in the shadow be- 
hind one of the curtains and watched Hilda. 

Come out, J udy, and be sociable,” said her sister. 

I don’t want to talk. I am so happy here, Hilda,” 
she replied. 

I do like spiders when they are very, very fat,” 
sounded Babs’ voice across the room. 

" Oh, you droll little creature ! ” exclaimed a lady 
who sat near; ‘‘why, I should fly from a spider any 
distance.” 

“ Perhaps you like earwigs better,” said Babs. 

“ Earwigs, they are horrors ; oh, you quaint, quaint 
little soul.” 

Babs did not care to be called a quaint little soul. 
She trotted across the room and stood by Judy’s side. 

“ There’s nobody at all funny here,” she said in a 
whisper. “ I wish I had my kitty Tiddliwinks to play 
with ; I don’t care for fine ladies.” 

“ It is time for you to go to bed, Babs,” said Judy. 

“ No, it isn’t. I am not going before you go. You 
always talk as if I were a baby^ and I aren’t. Judy, 


A tOUNG MUTINEER. 2? 

you might tell me now what it is to be engaged to be 
married/’ 

‘‘No, I can’t tell you now,” said Judy; “the gen- 
tlemen are coming in, and we mustn’t talk and in- 
terrupt. If you won’t go to bed you must stay quiet. 
You know if Aunt Marjorie sees you she’ll send you 
off at once ; now they are going to sing ; ah, that’ll be 
jolly. You stay quiet, Babs, and listen.” 

Four young men surrounded the piano. Jasper 
Quent3ms was one; Hilda played the accompani- 
ment. The four voices did ample justice to the beau- 
tiful glee — “ Men were deceivers ever.” The well- 
known words were applauded vigorously; the ap- 
plause rose to an encore. Judy listened as if fas- 
cinated. 

Sigh no more, ladies; ladies, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever; 

One foot in sea and one on shore. 

To one thing constant never. 

Then sigh not so. 

But let them go . . . 

“Yes, that’s the right thing to do,” said Judy, 
turning round and fixing her bright eyes on Babs. 

“How funny you look,” said Babs; “yow ought 
to go to bed.” 

“ Come, Barbara, what is this about ? ” said Aunt 
Marjorie’s voice. “You up still — what can Miss 
Mills be thinking of? Now, little girls, it is nine 
o’clock, and you must both go away. Good-night, 
Babs dear; good-night, Judy.” 

“ Mayn’t I say good-night to Hilda ? ” whispered 

“No, she’s busy; run away this moment. Judy, 
if you question me I shall have to appeal to your 
father. Now, my loves, go.” 


A tovm MOTmEER. 


58 


The little girls left the room, Babs complacently 
enough, Judy unwillingly. Babs was sleepy, and 
was very glad to lay her little head on her white 
pillow ; but sleep was very far away from J udy’s eyes. 

The little girls’ bedroom was over a portion of the 
drawing-room. They could hear the waves of the 
music and the light conversation and the gay laughter 
as they lay in their cots. The sounds soon mingled 
with Babs’ dreams, but Judy felt more restless and 
less sleepy each moment. 

Miss Mills had entire care of the children. She 
dressed them and undressed them as well as taught 
them. She had left them now for the night. Miss 
Mills at this moment was writing an indignant letter 
in reply to the one which had so excited her feel- 
ings this morning. Her schoolroom was far away. 
Judy knew that she was safe. If she got out of bed, 
no one would hear her. In her little white nightdress 
she stole across the moonlit floor and crept up to the 
window. She softly unfastened the hasp and flung 
the window open. She could see down into the gar- 
den, and could almost hear the words spoken in the 
drawing-room. Two figures had stepped out of the 
conversatory and side by side were walking across the 
silvered lawn. 

Judy’s heart beat with great thumps — one of these 
people was her sister Hilda, the other was Jasper 
Quentyns. They walked side by side, keeping close 
to one another. Their movements were very slow, 
they were talking almost in whispers. 

Hilda’s head only reached to Jasper’s shoulder; 
he was bending down over her. Presently he took her 
hand. Judy felt as if she should scream. 

‘^He’s a horrid, horrid, wicked man,” she said 
under her breath ; he’s a deceiver. ^ Men were de- 
ceivers ever/ I know what he is. Oh, what shall 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


29 


I do? what shall I do ? Oh, Hilda, oh, Hilda, dar- 
you shan’t go through the misery of being en- 
gaged and then being married. Oh, oh, what shall 
I do to save you, Hilda ? ” 

Quentyns and Hilda were standing still. They 
had moved out of the line of light which streamed 
from the drawing-room, and were standing under 
the shadow of a great beech tree. Judy felt that she 
could almost hear their words. From where she 
leaned out of the window she could certainly see their 
actions. Quentyns stooped suddenly and kissed Hilda 
on her forehead; Hilda looked up at him and laid 
both her hands in his. He folded them in a firm 
pressure, and again stooping, kissed her twice. 

Upstairs in the nursery, misery was filling one 
little heart to the brim. A sob caught Judy’s breath 
— she felt as if she should choke. She dared not look 
any more, but drawing down the blind crept back into 
bed and covered her head with the bedclothes. 

In the drawing-room the guests stopped on, and 
never missed the two who had stolen away across 
the moonlit lawn. One girl, it is true, might have 
been noticed to cast some anxious glances toward 
the open window, and the companion who talked to 
her could not help observing that she scarcely re- 
plied to his remarks, and was not fully alive to his 
witticisms; but the rest of the little world jogged 
on its way merrily enough, unconscious of the para- 
dise which was so close to them in the rectory gar- 
den, and of the purgatory which one little soul was 
enduring upstairs. 

Hilda,” said Quentyns, when they had stood for 
some time under the beech tree, and had said many 
things each to the other, and felt a great deal more 
than could ever be put into words. Hilda,” said 
Quentyns, and all the poetry of the lovely summer 


30 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


evening seemed to have got into his eyes and filled 
his voice, I give you all, remember, all that a man 
can give. I give you the love of my entire heart. 
My present is yours, my future is to be yours. I 
live for you, Hilda — I shall always live for you. 
Think what that means.” 

I can quite understand it,” replied Hilda, ibr 
I also live for you. I am yours, Jasper, for now 
and always.” 

“And I am a very jealous man,” said Quentyns. 
“ When I give all, I like to get all.” 

Hilda laughed. 

“ How solemnly you speak,” she said, stepping 
back a pace, and an almost imperceptible jar coming 
into her voice. Then she came close again. “ The 
fault you will have to find with me is this, Jasper,” 
she said, looking fully at him with her sweet eyes; 
“ I shall love you, if anything, too well. 'No one can 
ever come between us, unless it is dear little Judy.” 

“ Judy ! Don’t you think you make too much fuss 
about that child? She is such a morbid little piece 
of humanity.” 

“ Not a bit of it. You don’t quite understand her. 
She and I are much more than ordinary sisters to 
each other. I feel as if I were in a certain sense 
Judy’s mother. When mother died she left Judy to 
me. Little darling ! No one ever had a more faith- 
ful or a nobler heart. You must get fond of her too, 
for my sake ; won’t you, J asper ? ” 

“ I’ll do anything for your sake ; you know that, 
Hilda. But don’t let us talk of Judy any more just 
now — let us ” 

“ Mr. Quentyns, is that your voice I hear ? ” called 
Aunt Marjorie, from the drawing-room. “ And, 
Hilda, ought you to be out with the dew falling so 
heavily ? ” 


X YOtritG MUTINEER. 


31 


CHAPTER IV. 

CHANGES. 

Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather 
Till one steps over the tiny strand. 

So narrow, in sooth, that still together 
On either brink we go hand in hand. 

The beck grows wider, the hands must sever, 

On either margin our songs all done; 

We move apart, while she singeth ever, 

Taking the course of the stooping sun, 

— Jean Ingelow. 

About a week after Hilda Merton’s engagement, 
just when her friends were full of the event, and 
congratulations began to pour in on all sides, there 
came a very unexpected blow to the inmates of the 
peaceful and pretty rectory. 

The parish of Little Staunton was large and scat- 
tered ; it stretched away at one side down to the sea, 
at another it communicated with great open moors 
and tracts of the outlying lands of the New Forest. 
It was but sparsely peopled, and those parishioners 
who lived in small cottages by the sea, and who earned 
their living as fishermen, were most of them very 
poor. Mr. Merton, however, was one of the ideal sort 
of rectors, who helped his flock with temporal as well 
as spiritual benefits. The stipend which he received 
from the church was not a large one, and every penny 
of it was devoted to the necessities of his poor parish- 
ioners. 


A YOtiNG MUTINEER. 


There came an awful morning, therefore, when a 
short announcement in the local paper, and a long 
letter from Mr. Merton’s law3^er, acquainted him 
with the fact that the Downshire County Bank had 
stopped payment. In plain language, Mr. Merton, 
from being a wealthy man, became suddenly a very 
poor one. 

Aunt Marjorie cried when she heard the news; 
Hilda’s face turned very pale, and Judy and Babs, 
who were both in the room at the time, felt that sort 
of wonder and perplexity which children do exper- 
ience when they know something is dreadfully wrong, 
but cannot in the least understand what it is. 

In the course of the morning Hilda went to her 
father in his study. 

Her face was very white as she opened the door; 
some of the young, soft lines of her early youth 
seemed to have left it; her beautiful brown eyes 
looked in a heavy sort of fashion out at the world 
from their dark surroundings. She came up to her 
father, and put her hand on his shoulder. He was 
bending over his desk, busily writing. 

What is the matter, Hilda ? ” he asked, glancing 
up at hex with a quick start, and an endeavor to 
make his voice sound as usual. 

I — I have come, father, to say that if you like, 
I — I will give up my engagement to Jasper Quen- 
tyns.” 

Mr. Merton rose from his seat and put his arm 
round her neck. 

"My dear child,” he said, "it is my comfort to- 
day to know that you, at least, are provided for. 
Quentyns is fairly well off. If he will take you with- 
out any fortune, there is certainly no reason why you 
should not go to him.” 

" Money can’t make any difference to Jasper,” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


33 


said Hilda, just a little proudly, although her lips 
trembled ; but I — it seems wrong that I should be 
so happy when the rest of you are so miserable.^^ 

Tut, tut,” said the rector, I shall get over this 
in time. I own that just now the blow is so severe 
that I can scarcely quite realize it. When I opened 
my eyes this morning, I was pleasantly conscious 
that I was the possessor of a private income of quite 
two thousand a year; I felt this fact in the comforts 
that surrounded me, and the ease which filled my 
life. Except that small stipend which is represented 
by my living, and which I have always hitherto de- 
voted to the poor of the flock, I am now reduced to 
nothing a year. My poor must divide my money with 
me in future, that is all ; I don’t intend to be miser- 
able when I get accustomed to the change, Hilda. I 
must dismiss most of the servants, and give up the 
carriage and horses, and live as a poor man instead of 
a rich one ; but I owe no man anything, my dear, and 
I have not the least doubt there is a certain zest in 
poverty which will make the new order of things 
agreeable enough when once I get used to it.” 

The tears gathered slowly in Hilda’s eyes. 

I don’t feel as if I could quite bear it,” she said, 
with a sob. 

The rector, who was always rather absent-minded, 
and had a dreamy way of looking far ahead even 
when he was most roused, scarcely noticed Hilda’s 
tears. He talked on in a monotonous sort of voice: 

I have not the least doubt that poverty has its 
alleviations. I have heard it more than once re- 
marked that the hand-to-mouth existence is the most 
stimulating in the world. I should not be surprised, 
Hilda, if my sermons took a turn for the better after 
this visitation. I have preached to my flock year in, 
year out that the mysterious ways of Providence are 


u 


A Young mutineer. 


undoubtedly the best — I have got to act up to ttiy 
preaching now, that is all.” 

The rector sat down again and continued to write 
a very unbusiness-like letter to his lawyer; Hilda 
stood and looked at him with a frown between her 
brows, and then went slowly out of the room. 

Aunt Marjorie, who had cried herself nearly sick, 
and whose eyes between their swollen lids were 
scarcely visible, came to meet her as she walked across 
the hall. 

Oh, my darling,” she said, with a fresh sob, 
how can I bear to look at you when I think of all 
your young life blighted in a moment! Oh, those 
wicked bank directors! They deserve hanging; yes, 
I should hang them one and all. And so you have 
been with my poor brother? I would not venture 
near him. How is he taking it, Hilda ? Is he quite 
off his head, poor man ? ” 

How do you think my father would take a blow 
of this kind?” said Hilda. Come into the draw- 
ing-room, auntie. Oh, auntie dear, do try to stop 
crying. You don’t know what father is. Of course 
I can’t pretend to understand him, but he is quite 
noble — ^he is splendid; he makes me believe in re- 
ligion. A man must be very, very good to talk as 
father has just done.” 

^^Poor Samuel,” said Aunt Marjorie. knew 
that he would take this blow either as a saint or as 
an idiot — I don’t know which is the most trying. 
You see, Hilda, my love, your father has never had 
anything to do with the petty details of house-keep- 
ing. This parish brings in exactly three hundred and 
fifty pounds a year ; how are we to pay the wages of 
nine servants, and how are the gardeners to be paid, 
and the little girls’ governess, and — and how is this 
beautiful house to be kept up on a pittance of that 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


35 


sort? Oh, dear, oh dear! Your father will just say 
to me, ^ I know, Marjorie, that you will do your besV 
and then he’ll forget that there is such a thing as 
money; but I shall never be able to forget it, Hilda. 
Oh, dear, oh dear, I do think saintly men are awful 
trials.” 

But you said just now you thought he would be 
off his head. You ought to be very thankful. Aunt 
Maggie, that he is taking things as he is. Of course 
the servants must go away, and the establishment 
must be put on an altogether new footing. You’ll 
have to walk instead of ride in future, but I don’t 
suppose Judy and Babs will much care, and I 

Oh, yes,” said Aunt Marjorie, you will be in 
your new house in London, new-fangled with your 
position, and highly pleased and proud to put Mrs. 
before your name, and you’ll forget all about us. 
Of course I am pleased for you, but you’re just as 
bad as your father when you talk in that cool fashion 
about dismissing the servants, and when you expect 
an old lady like me to tramp all over the place on 
my feet.” 

I told father that if he wished I would break off 
my engagement.” 

Aunt Majorie dried her eyes when her niece made 
this speech, and looked at her fixedly. 

I do think,” she said, that you’re a greater fool 
even than poor Samuel. Is not your engagement to 
a nice, gentlemanly, clever man like Jasper Quen- 
tyns the one ray of brightness in this desolate day? 
You, child, at least are provided for.” 

wonder if you think that I care about being 
provided for at this juncture?” answered Hilda, 
knitting her brows once again in angry perplexity. 

She went away to her own room, and sitting be- 
fore her desk, wrote a long letter to her lover. 


36 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Quentyns had been called to the bar, and was al- 
ready beginning to receive “ briefs.” 

His income was by no means large, however, and 
although he undoubtedly loved Hilda for her own 
sake, he might not have proposed an immediate mar- 
riage had he not believed that his pretty bride would 
not come to him penniless. 

Hilda sat with her pen in her hand looking down 
at the blank sheet of paper. 

By the same post which had brought the lawyer’s 
dreadful letter there had come two closely-written 
sheets from Jasper. He wanted Hilda to marry him 
in the autumn, and he had already begun house- 
hunting. 

We might find it best to take a small flat for a 
year,” he had written, ‘^but if you would rather 
have a house, darling, say so. Some people don’t 
approve of flats. They say they are not so whole- 
some. One misses the air of the staircase, and there 
is a certain monotony in living altogether on one 
floor which may not be quite conducive to health. 
On the other hand flats are compact, and one knows 
almost at a glance what one’s expenses are likely to 
be. I have been consulting Rivers — ^you know how 
often I have talked to you of my friend Archie 
Rivers — and he thinks on the whole that a flat would 
be advisable; we avoid rates and taxes and all those 
sort of worries, and if we like to shut up house for 
a week, and run down to the rectory, why, there we 
are, you know ; for the house-porter sees to our rooms, 
and we run no risk from burglars. But what do you 
say yourself, darling, for that is the main point ? ” 
Hilda had read this letter with a beating heart 
and a certain pleasant sense of exhilaration at break- 
fast that morning, but then this was before the blow 
came — before Aunt Marjorie’s shriek had sounded 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


37 


through the room, and before Hilda had caught a 
glimpse of her father’s face with the gray tint spread- 
ing all over it — before she had heard his tremulous 
words : 

Yes, Marjorie, God help us, we are ruined.” 

Hilda read the letter now with very different feel- 
ings; somehow or other all the rose light had gone 
out of it. She was a very inexperienced girl as far 
as money matters were concerned. Until to-day 
money seemed to have little part or lot in her life; 
it had never stirred her nature to its depths, it had 
kindly supplied her with necessities and luxuries; it 
had gilded everything, but she had never known 
where the gilt came from. When she engaged her- 
self to Jasper, he told her that, for the present at 
least, he was a comparatively poor man ; he had three 
hundred a year of his own. This he assured her 
was a mere bagatelle, but as he was almost certain 
to earn as much more in his profession, and as Hilda 
had money, he thought they might marry if she did 
not mind living very prudently. Of course Hilda 
did not mind — she knew nothing at all of the money 
part. The whole thing meant love and poetry to her, 
and she disliked the word money coming into it. 

To-day, however, things looked different. For the 
first time she got a glimpse of tragedy. How mean 
of it, how horrible of it to come in this guise ! She 
pressed her hand to her forehead, and wondered what 
her lover could mean when he talked of rates and 
taxes and asked her to decide between a flat and a 
house. 

I don’t know what to say,” she murmured to her- 
self. Perhaps we shall not be married at all at 
present. Perhaps Jasper will say we can’t afford it. 
Perhaps I ought to answer his question about the 
flat— but I don’t know what to say. I thought we 


38 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


might have had a cottage somewhere in one of the 
suburbs — with a little garden, and that I might have 
kept fowls, and have had heaps and heaps of flowers. 
Surely fowls would be economical, but I am sure I 
can’t say. I really don’t know anything whatever 
about the matter.” 

‘MVhy are you talking in that funny way, half- 
aloud to yourself, Hilda ? ” asked a little voice with a 
sad inflection in it. 

Hilda slightly turned her head and saw that Judy 
had softly opened the door of her bedroom, and was 
standing in the entrance. 

Judy had an uncertain manner about her which 
was rather new to her character, and her face had a 
somewhat haggard look, unnatural and not pleasant 
to see in so young a child. 

Oh, pet, is that you ? ” said Hilda. Come and 
give me a kiss — I am just longing for you — ^you’re 
the person of all others to consult. Come along and 
sit down by me. Now, now — ^you don’t want to 
strangle me, do you ? ” 

For Judy had rushed upon her sister like a little 
whirlwind, her strong childish arms were flung with 
almost ferocious tightness round Hilda’s neck, the 
skirt of her short frock had swept Jasper’s letter to 
the floor, and even upset an inkpot in its voluminous 
sweep. 

Oh, oh,” said Hilda, I must wipe up this mess. 
There, Judy, keep back for a moment; it will get 
upon the carpet and spoil it if we are not as quick 
as possible. Hand me that sheet of blotting-paper, 
dear. There now, that is better — I have stopped the 
stream from descending too far. Why, Judith, my 
dear, you have tears in your eyes. You don’t sup- 
pose I care about the ink being spilled when I get 
a hug like that from you.” 


I 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


39 


wasn’t crying about the ink,” said Judy; 
‘‘what’s ink! The. tears came because I am so iov- 
ful.” 

“You joyful? and to-day?” said Hilda. “You 
know what has happened, don’t you, Judy?” 

“ We are poor instead of rich,” said Judy; “ what’s 
that? Oh, I am so happy — I am so awfully happy 
that I scarcely know what to do.” 

“ What a queer little soul you are ! Now, now, 
am I to be swept up in another embrace ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, let me, let me — I haven’t kissed you like 
this since you, you — you got engaged’^ 

“ In what a spiteful way you say that last word, 
Judy; now I come to think of it, we have scarcely 
kissed each other since. But whose fault was that? 
Not mine, I am sure. I was quite hungry for one 
of your kisses, jewel, and now that I have got it I 
feel ever so much better. Sit down by me, and let 
us talk. Judy, you are a very wise little darling, 
aren’t you ? ” 

“ If you think so, you darling, I suppose I am.” 

“I doJ:hink so. I have had a letter from Jasper. 
I want to talk over something he says in it with 
you. Judy dear, he is such a noble fellow.” 

Judy shut up her firm lips until they looked like 
a straight line across her face. 

“He’s such a noble fellow,” repeated Hilda. “I 
can’t tell you how glad you ought to be to have the 
prospect of calling a man like Jasper your brother; 
he’ll be a great help to you, Judy, by and by.” 

“No, he won’t — I don’t want him to be,” said 
Judy viciously. 

“ Why, I declare, I do believe the dear is jealous ; 
but now to go on. Jasper has written to me on a 
most important subject. Now, if I consult you about 
it you won’t ever, ever tell, will you ? ” 


40 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


^^No, of course I won’t. Was it about that you 
were muttering to yourself when I came into the 
room ? ” 

‘‘You funny puss; yes, I was talking the matter 
over to myself. Jasper is looking out for a house 
for us.” 

“ He isn’t. It’s awfully cheeky of him.” 

“My dear Judy, it would be much more cheeky 
to ask me to go and live in the street with him. We 
must have some residence after we are married — 
mustn’t we? Well, darling, now you must listen 
very attentively; he has asked me whether it would 
be best for us to live in a little house of our own ” 

“ Why a little house ? He ought to take you to a 
palace.” 

“ Don’t interrupt ; we shall be poor people, quite 
a poor couple, Jasper and I. Now, Judy, just try 
and get as wise as a Solon. He wants to know 
whether I would rather live in a little house or a 
flat.” 

“What’s a flat, Hilda?” 

“I don’t quite know myself; but I believe a flat 
consists of several rooms on one floor, shut away 
from the rest of the house by a separate hall door. 
Jasper rather approves of a flat, because he says 
there won’t be any rates and taxes. It’s very silly, 
but though I am a grown-up girl, I don’t exactly 
know what rates and taxes are — do you ? ” 

“ No, but I can ask Miss Mills.” 

“ I don’t expect she’d know anything about them ; 
it seems so stupid to have to write back and tell 
Jasper that I don’t understand what he means.” 

“ Aunt Marjorie would know,” said Judy. 

“I shouldn’t like to consult her, pet. I think 
I’d better leave it to Jasper to decide.” 

Judy looked very wise and interested now. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


41 


^^Why don’t you say you’d rather go into a little 
house ? ” she said ; it sounds much more interest- 
ing. A flat is an ugly name, and I am quite sure 
it must be an ugly place.” 

That is true,” said Hilda, pausing and looking 
straight before her with her pretty brows knit. Oh, 
dear, oh, dear, I wonder what is right. And a little 
house might have a garden too, mightn’t it, J udy ? ” 

Of course, and a fowl-house and a cote for your 
pigeons.” 

To be sure ; and when you come to see me, you 
should have a strip of garden to dig in all for your- 
self.” 

Oh, should I really come to see you, Hilda ? 
Miss Mills said that you wouldn’t want me — that 
you wouldn’t be bothered with me.” 

That I wouldn’t be bothered with you ? Why, I 
shall wish to have you with me quite half the time. 
Now, now, am I to be strangled again? Please 
Judy, abstain from embracing, and tell me whether 
we are to have a flat or a cottage.” 

Of course you are to have a cottage — with the 
garden and the fowl-house.” 

I declare I think I’ll take your advice, you little 
dear. I’ll write and tell Jasper that I’d much 
rather have a cottage. Now, who is that knocking 
at the door ? Run, Judy, and see what’s wanted.” 

Judy returned in a moment with a telegram. 

Hilda tore it open with fingers that slightly 
trembled. 

Oh, how joyful, how joyful ! ” she exclaimed. 

What is it ? ” asked J udy. 

‘^Jasper is coming — my dear, dear Jasper. See 
what he says — ^ Have heard the bad news — my deep- 
est sympathy — expect me this evening.’ Then I 
needn’t write after all. Judy, Judy, I agree with 


42 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


you; I feel quite happy even though it is the dread- 
ful day when the blow has been struck.^’ 

Judy did not say anything; she rose languidly to 
her feet. 

Where are you going ? ” asked Hilda. 

For a walk.^^ 

^'Why so?^^ 

^^Miss Mills said that even though we were poor 
I was to take the fresh air/^ replied the child in a 
prim little voice, out of which all the spirit had 
gone. 

She kissed Hilda, but no longer in a rapturous, 
tempestuous fashion, and walked scberly out of the 
room. 


CHAPTER V. 

IN’ A GARDEN-. 

I go like one in a dream, unbidden my feet know the 
way. 

To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red 
and white hawthorn of May. 

— Mathilde Blind. 

Aunt Marjorie had cried until she could cry no 
longer. Here was a slighter nature than either Mr. 
Merton’s or Hilda’s. In consequence, perhaps, she 
was able to realize the blow which had come upon 
them more vividly and more quickly than either her 
brother or niece. 

Aunt Marjorie had taken a great pride in the 
pretty, well-ordered house. She was a capable, a 
kind, and a considerate mistress, Her servants 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


43 


worked well under her guidance. She was set in 
authority over them; they liked her rule, and ac- 
knowledged it with cheerful and willing service. 

No one could give such perfect little dinner- 
parties as Aunt Marjorie. She had a knack of find- 
ing out each of her guests’ particular weaknesses 
with regard to the dinner-table. She was no diplo- 
matist, and her conversation was considered prosy; 
but with Mr. Merton to act the perfect host and to 
lead the conversation into the newest intellectual 
channels, with Hilda to look sweet and gracious and 
beautiful, and with Aunt Marjorie to provide the 
dinner, nothing could have been a greater success 
than the little party which took place on an average 
once a week at the sociable rectory. 

Now all these things were at an end. The ser- 
vants must go; the large house — which had been 
added to from time to time by the rector until it had 
lost all similitude to the ordinary small and cosy 
rectory — the great house must remain either partly 
shut up or only half-cleaned. There must be no 
more dinner-parties, and no nice carriage for Aunt 
Marjorie to return calls in. The vineries and con- 
servatories must remain unheated during the winter ; 
the gardeners must depart. Weeds must grow in- 
stead of flowers. 

Alack, and alas! Aunt Marjorie felt like a ship- 
wrecked mariner, as she sat now in the lovely draw- 
ing-room and looked out over the summer scene. 

With her mind’s eye she was gazing at something 
totality different — she was seeing the beautiful place 
as it would look in six months’ time; she saw with 
disgust the rank and obnoxious weeds, the empty 
grate, the dust-covered ornaments. 

It is worse for us than it would be for ordinary 
people,” she said half -aloud. we were just or- 


44 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


dinary people, we could leave here and go into a 
tiny cottage where our surroundings would be in 
keeping with our means; but of course the rector 
must live in the rectory — at least I suppose so. Dear, 
dear, how sudden this visitation has been — truly may 
it be said that ‘ all flesh is grass.’ ” 

Aunt Marjorie had a way of quoting sentences 
which did not at all apply to the occasion; these 
quotations always pleased her, however, and a slow 
smile now played round her lips. 

The drawing-room door was opened noisily, and 
a fat little flgure rushed across the room and sprang 
into her arms. 

‘^Is that you, Babs?” she said. She cuddled the 
child in a close embrace, and kissed her smooth, cool 
cheek many times. 

^^Yes, of course it’s me,” said Babs, in her mat- 
ter-of-fact voice. ‘^Your eyes are quite red, auntie. 
Have you been crying ? ” 

We have had dreadful trouble, my darling — poor 
auntie feels very miserable — it is about father. Your 
dear father has lost all his money, my child.” 

Miss Mills told me that half an hour ago,” said 
Babs ; that’s why I wanted to see you, auntie. I 
has got half a sovereign in the savings bank. I’ll 
give it to father if he wants it.” 

^‘You’re a little darling,” said Aunt Marjorie, 
kissing her again. 

“ There’s Judy going across the garden,” said Babs. 
‘^Look at her, she has her shoulders hunched up to 
her ears. She’s not a bit of good; she won’t play 
with me nor nothing.” 

“ That child doesn’t look at all well,” said Aunt 
Marjorie. 

She started to her feet, putting Babs on the 
floor. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 45 

A new anxiety and a new interest absorbed her 
mind. 

Judy, Judy,’^ she called; ‘^come here, child. I 
have noticed for the last week,” she said, speaking 
her thoughts aloud, ^^that Judy has black lines under 
her eyes, and a dragged sort of look about her. What 
can it mean ? ” 

She cries such a lot,” said Babs in her untroubled 
voice. I hear her when she^s in bed at night. I 
thought she had she-cups, but it wasn’t, it was 
sobs.” 

^‘She-cups — what do you mean, child? Judy, 
come here, darling.” 

" She-cups,” repeated Babs. " Some people call 
them he-cups; but I don’t when a girl has them.” 

Judy came slowly up to the window. 

Where were you going, my pet ? ” asked Aunt 
Marjorie. 

Only for a walk,” she answered. 

walk all by yourself? How pale you are, 
dearie. Have you a headache ? ” 

No, auntie.” 

Aunt Marjorie pulled Judy forward. She felt her 
forehead and looked at her tongue, and put her in 
such a position that she could gaze down into her 
throat. 

Not being able to detect an}i;hing the matter, she 
thought it best to scold her niece a little. 

Little girls oughtn’t to walk slowly and to be 
dismal,” she said. It is very wrong and ungrateful 
of them. They ought to run about and skip and 
laugh. Work while you work, and play while you 
play. That was the motto when I was a little girl. 
Now, Judy, love, go out with Babs and have a good 
romp. You had better both of you go to the hayfield, 
for it might distract your poor father to hear your 


46 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


two merry voices. Eun, my dears, run; make your- 
selves scarce.” 

Come, Babs,” said Judy. She held out her hand 
to her little sister, and the two went away together. 

‘^Do you know, Judy,” said Babs, the moment 
they were out of Aunt Marjorie’s hearing, that I 
saw a quarter of an hour ago a great big spider in 
the garden catching a wasp. He rolled the poor 
wasp round and round with his web until he made 
him into a ball.” 

And did you leave that poor wasp to die ? ” asked 
Judy, keen interest and keen anger coming into her 
voice. 

‘^NTo, I didn’t,” said Babs. 1 took him away 
from the spider. I wouldn’t be kite so cruel as to 
let the poor thing die; but I s’pect he’ll die all the 
same, for he can’t get out of the ball that he’s in. 

Poor darling,” said J udy. Let’s go and find 
him and try to get the web off him. Do you know 
where he is, Babs?” 

"I put him on an ivy leaf on the ground,” said 
Babs, under the yew tree down there. I can find 
him in a minute.” 

“Well, let’s go and save him as quickly as pos- 
sible.” 

The two children rushed with eagerness and vigor 
down the slope. 

Aunt Marjorie could see them as they disappeared 
out of sight. 

She turned to weep and bewail herself once more, 
and Judy and Babs began industriously to look for 
the wasp. 

They were busily engaged on their hands and 
knees searching all over the ground for the identical 
ivy leaf where Babs had placed the rescued insect, 
when a voice sounded in their ears, and Judy raised 


A YOUNG MUTlNEUia. 47 

her head to see pretty Mildred Ansthruther standing 
by her side. 

Mildred was one of the belles of the county: her 
hair was as bright as a sunbeam, her eyes as blue 
as a summer sky, her full lips were red, her cheeks 
had the bloom of the peach upon them. Mildred 
was a well-grown girl, with a largely and yet grace- 
fully developed figure. 

In addition to her personal charms she had a con- 
siderable fortune. It went without saying, there- 
fore, that she was greatly admired. 

Mildred had often been the talk of Little Staun- 
ton; her numerous flirtations had caused head-shak' 
ings and dismal croaks from many of the old maids 
of the neighborhood. The sterner sex had owned 
to heart-burnings in connection with her, for 
Mildred could flirt and receive any amount of atten- 
tion without giving her heart in return. She was 
wont to laugh at love affairs, and had often told 
Hilda that the prince to whom alone she would give 
her affections was scarcely likely to appear. 

The time when gods used to walk upon the earth 
is over, my dear Hilda,” she used to say. “When 
I find the perfect man, I will marry him, but not 
before.” 

Mildred, who was twenty-six years of age, had 
therefore the youngest and smoothest of faces; care 
had never touched her life, and wrinkles were un- 
likely to visit her. 

For some reason, however, she looked careworn 
now, and Judy, with a child’s quick perception, 
noticed it. 

She was fond of Mildred, and she put up her lips 
for a kiss 

“What’s the matter, Milly?” she asked; “have 

you a cold ? ” 


A TfOUNG MUTINEER. 




my love; on principle I never allow ^myself 
to have anything so silly; but I am shocked,' Judy 
— shocked at what I have read in the morning pa- 
pers/’ 

^^Oh, about our money,” replied Judy in an un- 
concerned voice. Have you found that wasp, Babs ? 
Are you looking on all the ivy leaves ? ” 

I picked an ivy leaf, and put it down just here,” 
replied Babs, ‘^and I put the wasp in it most care- 
fully; the wind must have caught it and blown it 
away.” 

Oh dear, oh dear, the poor creature ; what will 
become of it?” answered Judy. She was down on 
her hands and knees again, poking and examining, 
but poking and examining in vain. 

It’s very rude of you, J udy, not to pay me the 
least attention,” said Mildred. have come over 
on purpose to see you, and there you are squatting 
on the ground, pushing all that rubbish about. 
You have no manners, and I’ll tell Hilda so; 
and, Babs, what are you about not to give me a 
hug ? ” 

Babs raised a somewhat grimy little face. 

^^We can’t find the poor wasp,” she said. ^^He 
was rolled up in the spider’s web, and I put him on 
an ivy leaf, and now he’s gone.” 

You had better go on looking for him, Babs,” 
said Judy, and I’ll talk to Milly.” She rose as 
she spoke and placed her dirty little hand on Miss 
Anstruther’s arm. ‘‘ So you heard about our money, 
Milly ? ” she said. " Aunt Marjorie is in an awful 
state; she has cried and cried and cried; but the 
rest of us don’t care.” 

‘^You don’t care? Oh, you queer, queer people. 
You don’t mean to tell me, little Judy, that Hilda 
doesn’t care?” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 49 

Hilda cares the least of all/’ replied Judy; 

she, has got J asper.” 

J udy’s face clouded over as she spoke. 

wonder what he'll say to this business/’ re- 
marked Miss Anstruther, half to herself; ^^he’s not 
at all well off — it ought to make a tremendous dif- 
ference to him.” 

He certainly isn’t to be pitied,” said Judy; " he’s 
going to get Hilda.” 

And what about Hilda’s money ? ” laughed Miss 
Anstruther. Her face wore an expression which was 
almost disagreeable. Her big blue eyes looked dark 
as they gazed at the child. 

Judy’s own little face turned pale. She didn’t un- 
derstand Miss Anstruther, but something impelled 
her to say with great fierceness : 

I hate J asper.” 

Miss Anstruther stooped down and kissed her. 

^^You are a queer, passionate little thing, Judy,” 
she said, ^^but it’s a very good thing for Hilda to 
be engaged to a nice, sensible fellow like Jasper 
Quentyns, and of course it is more important now 
than ever for her. He’ll be disappointed, of course, 
but I dare say they can get along somehow. Ah, 
there’s Aunt Marjorie coming out of the house. I 
must run and speak to her, poor dear; how troubled 
she looks! and no wonder.” 

Mildred ran off, and Judy stood where she had 
left her, in the center of the lawn, quivering all over. 

What did Milly mean by saying that Jasper would 
be disappointed — Jasper, who was going to get Hilda 
— Hilda herself? What could any one want more 
than the sun? What could any man desire more 
than the queen of all queens, the rose of all roses ? 

Thoughts like these flitted through little Judy’s 
mind in confused fashion. Hilda was to be married 


50 


A YOUNG MUTfNEER. 


to Jasper, and the rectory of Little Staunton would 
know her no more. That indeed was a sorrow to 
make every one turn sick and pale, but the loss of 
the money was not worth a moment’s consideration. 

Judy wandered about too restless and unhappy to 
settle to her play. Babs shouted in the distance 
that the wasp was not to be seen. Even the fate of 
the poor wasp scarcely interested Judy at present. 
She was watching for Mildred to reappear that she 
might join her in the avenue and ask why she dared 
to say those words about Jasper. 

^^Well, Judy,” said Miss Anstruther by and by, 

here I am, back at last. I saw Aunt Marjorie, but 
I didn’t see the rector, and I didn’t see Hilda. Aunt 
Marjorie tells me that Jasper Quentyns is coming 
down to-night, so I suppose he’s going to take every- 
thing all right.” 

‘‘What do you mean, Milly?” asked Judy. 

“ Why do you look at me in that fierce way, you 
small atom?” answered Mildred, stopping in her 
walk and looking at the child with an amused smile 
on her face. 

“Because I don’t understand you,” said Judy. 

“It is scarcely likely you should, my darling. 
Let me see, how old are you — nine? Well, you’ll 
know something of what I mean when you’re nine- 
teen. Now I must go.” 

“No, stop a bit, Milly. I don’t understand you, 
but I hate hints. Miss Mills hints things some- 
times, and oh, how I detest her when she does! and 
you’re hinting now, and it is something against 
Hilda.” 

“Against Hilda? Oh, good gracious, child, what 
an awful cram ! ” 

“ It isn’t a cram, it is true. I can’t explain it, but 
I know you’re hinting something against darling 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


61 


Hilda. Why should you say that Jasper will be 
disappointed? Isn^t she going away with him some 
day? And aren’t they going to live in — in a horrid 
— a horrid flat together, and she won’t even have a 
garden, nor fowls, nor flowers? And you say Jasper 
will be disappointed. Everything is going when 
Hilda goes, and you speak as if Jasper wasn’t the 
very luckiest person in all the wide world. 1 know 
what it means; yes, I know. Oh, Milly, I’m so 
unhappy. Oh, Milly, what shall I do when Hilda 
goes away ? ” 

Mildred was impulsive and kind-hearted, not- 
withstanding the very decided fit of jealousy which 
was now over her. She put her arm round Judy 
and tried to comfort her. 

You poor little thing,” she said, you poor, 
little, jealous, miserable mite. How could you 
think you were going to keep your Hilda always? 
There, Judy, there, darling, I really am sorry for 
you — I really am, but you know Hilda is pretty 
and sweet, and some one wants her to make another 
home beautiful. There, I’ll say something to com- 
fort you — I’ll eat all the words I have already ut- 
tered, and tell you emphatically from my heart 
of hearts that Hilda is too good for J asper 
Quentyns.” 

^^Judy, Judy, Judy, I have found the wasp,” 
shouted Babs. 

Judy dried her eyes hastily, kissed Mildred, and 
ran across the lawn to her little sister. 

^^What a queer child Judy Merton is,” said Mil- 
dred to herself. What tempestuous little creatures 
some children are. How passionately she spoke about 
Hilda, and now her whole heart and soul are devoted 
to the rescuing of a miserable insect. Yes, of course 
Jasper is not good enough for Hilda. He has plenty 


52 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


of faults, he is not the prince I have been looking 

for, and yet — and yet 

Her heart beat quickly, the color rushed into her 
face, she felt her firm lips tremble, and knew that 
her eyes were shining with unusual brilliance. Some 
one was coming along the path to meet her. A 
man with the sunlight shining all over him — an 
athletic figure, who walked with the swift, bounding 
step of youth. He was Jasper Quentyns. 

Hullo,” he called, catching sight of her. I 
was fortunate in getting an earlier train than I had 
hoped for, and here I am two hours before I was 
expected. How is Hilda? Have you been at the 
house? Are they all fearfully cut up?” 

^^How do you do, Mr. Quentyns?” replied Mil- 
dred. ^^Yes, I have been at the house, and I have 
•een Judy and Aunt Marjorie. Judy seems to me 
to be in a very excitable and feverish state of mind.” 

She’s rather spoiled, isn’t she ? ” said Quentyns. 

Oh, well, she’s Hilda’s special darling, the first 
in her heart by many degrees — after — after some- 
body else.” 

But how could a child like J udy know anything 
about a money loss ? ” 

It isn’t the money that’s troubling her at the 
present moment, it’s a poor wasp. Now pray don’t 
look so bewildered, and do try and forget about 
Judy. Aunt Marjorie is taking her trouble in a 
thoroughly practical and Aunt Marjorie style. I 
have not seen Hilda, nor have I seen the rector.” 

It will be an awful blow to them all,” said 
Quentyns. 

Yes,” replied Miss Anstruther, looking him 
straight in the eyes, an awful blow. And you 
feel it far more than Hilda,” she soliloquized, as 
she walked back to her own home. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


53 


CHAPTEE VI. 

THE EVE OF THE WEDDING. 

Where shall I find a white rose blowing? 

Out in the garden where all sweets be. 

But out in my garden the snow was snowing, 

And never a white rose opened for me, 

Nought but snow and a wind were blowing 
And snowing. 

— Christina G. Rossetti. 

ISTotwithstanding Mildred Anstmther’s inward 
prognostications, there came no hitch to Hilda Mer- 
ton’s engagement. Quentyns behaved as the best and 
most honorable of men. He was all that was tender 
and loving to Hilda, and he immediately took that 
position toward Mr. Merton which a son might have 
held. Quentyns was a good business man, and in the 
catastrophe which overwhelmed the rectory he proved 
himself invaluable. 

On one point, however, he was very firm. His 
marriage with Hilda must not be delayed. Ho per- 
suasive speeches on her part, no longing looks out 
of Judy’s hungry eyes, no murmurs on the part of 
Aunt Marjorie, would induce him to put off the time 
of the wedding by a single day. 

He used great tact in this matter, for Quentyns 
was the soiff of tact, and it quite seemed to the 
family, and even to Hilda herself, that she had sug- 
gested the eighth of January as the most suitable 
day in the whole year for a wedding — it seemed to 


54 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


the whole family, and even to Hilda herself, that 
she was the one who desired to go, whereas in her 
hearts of hearts, in that innermost heart which she 
scarcely ventured to probe at all just now, she 
would have gladly shared Aunt Marjorie’s discom- 
forts, and sat by her father’s side while he com- 
posed those sermons which were to teach his flock, 
with a sure note of truth running through them, 
that the blessed man is the man whom the Lord God 
chasteneth. 

The wedding day was fixed, and notwithstanding 
poverty and its attendant shadows, preparations for 
the great event went on merrily enough. 

A check for Hilda’s trousseau was sent to her by a 
rich aunt in India, and the pleasant excitement which 
even the quietest wedding always causes, began to 
pervade the rectory. 

When the day was finally arranged. Aunt Marjorie 
ceased to murmur and cry. She talked a great deal 
now of Hilda’s coming responsibilities, and spent 
all her leisure moments copying out receipts which 
she thought might be useful to her niece in her new 
position as wife and housekeeper. 

You have never told me where you are going 
to live, Hilda,” she said, on the New Year’s Day 
which preceded the wedding. 

am not quite sure myself,” replied Hilda. 

Jasper has seen a great many suburban houses 
which he does not quite like, and a great many fiats 
which he considers absolutely perfect. He says there 
is no special hurry about choosing a house, for after 
we have returned from our wedding tour we are to 
stay with some of his relations in town, and during 
that time we can make up our minds as to what kind 
of home we will have.” 

^^Very prudent of Jasper/’ said Aunt Marjorie. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


65 


He really is an excellent fellow — so wonderfully 
thoughtful for such a young man. Of course he has 
far too much sense to think of selecting a house for 
you himself. As to a flat, you will of course not 
dream of going into one — a house is better in all 
respects — more airy and more interesting.” 

“ I should like a house best,” said Hilda, but 
J asper, of course, is the one really to decide.” 

Now, there you are wrong, my love. You are 
undoubtedly the right person to make the final choice. 
I am old-fashioned in my ideas, Hilda, and I think 
the wife ought to be in subjection to her husband, 
for we have Scripture for it, but I don’t believe St. 
Paul meant that rule to extend to domestic matters. 
In domestic matters the wife ought to have the cast- 
ing vote. Be sure, my dear Hilda, you don’t yield to 
Jasper in domestic affairs — you will rue it if you 
do — and be quite sure that in selecting a house you 
have a wide entrance-hall, a spacious staircase, and 
a large drawing-room.” 

'^But, auntie, such a house will be beyond our 
means.” 

Tut, tut, my love — the rent may be a few pounds 
more, but what of that? A large entrance-hall is 
really essential ; and as it is easier to keep large rooms 
and wide staircases clean than small ones, your ser- 
vants will have less to do and you will save the extra 
rent in that way. Now here is your great-grand- 
mother’s receipt for plum-pudding — two dozen eggs, 
three pounds raisins, one pound citron. Hilda, I 
particularly want to give you a hint about the spice 
for this pudding; ah, and I must speak also about 
this white soup — it is simply made, and at the same 
time delicious — ^the stock from two fowls — one pint 
single cream — your father is particularly fond of it 
Yes^ Susan^ what is the matter f ” 


56 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


parcel for Miss Hilda, ma’am,” said the neat 
maid. It has come by ^ Carter Patterson ’ ; and 
will you put your name here, please. Miss Hilda.” 

Hilda signed her name obediently, and a square 
wooden box was brought in. It was opened by Aunt 
Marjorie herself with great solemnity. Judy and 
Babs came and looked on, and there were great ex- 
pressions of rapture when an exquisite afternoon tea- 
service of crown derby was exhibited to view. 

Wedding presents were pouring in from all quar- 
ters. Hilda put this one away with the others, and 
calmly continued her occupation of adding up some 
parochial accounts for her father. She was a very 
careful accountant, and had the makings in her of 
a good business woman when she had gained a little 
experience. 

Aunt Marjorie sat and mumbled little disjointed 
remarks with regard to her niece’s future state and 
subjection. She gave her many hints as to when 
she was to yield to her husband, and when she was 
to firmly uphold her own will. 

Plad Hilda followed out Aunt Marjorie’s precepts, 
or even been greatly influenced by them, she and 
Jasper would have had a very unhappy future, but 
she had a gentle and respectful way of listening to 
the old lady without taking in a great deal that she 
said. Her thoughts were divided now between Jasper 
and Judy. Her heart felt torn at the thought of 
leaving her little sister, and she had an instinctive 
feeling which she had never yet put into words, that 
Judy and Jasper were antagonistic to each other, 
and, what is more, would always remain so. 

Judy had seen the Crown Derby service unpacked, 
and then in the sober fashion which more or less 
characterized all her actions of late, she left the room. 

She went up to the bediroom which she and Babs 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 57 

shared together, and sitting down by the window 
rested her chubby cheek against her hand. 

Babs was kneeling down in a distant corner, pull- 
ing a dolFs bedstead to pieces for the express pur- 
pose of putting it together again. 

My doll Lily has been very very naughty to-day,” 
she said, and I am going to put her to bed. She 
wouldn’t half say her lessons this morning, and she 
deserves to be well punished. What are you think- 
ing of, Judy, and why do you pucker up your fore- 
head ? It makes you look so cross ! ” 

Never mind aboijt my forehead. I have a lot of 
things to think of just now. I can’t be always 
laughing and talking like you.” 

Babs paused in the act of putting a sheet on her 
doll’s bed to gaze at Judy with great intentness.” 

" You might tell me what’s the matter with you,” 
she said, after a moment of silence; ‘^you are not a 
bit interesting lately; you’re always thinking and 
always frowning, unless at night when you are sob- 
bing.” 

Oh, don’t,” said Judy. Don’t you see what it 
is, Babs — can’t you guess? — it is only a week off 
now.” 

What’s only a week off ? ” 

Hilda’s wedding. Oh dear, oh dear ! I wish I 
were dead ; I do wish I were dead.” 

Babs did not think this remark of poor Judy’s 
worth replying to. She gravely finished making her 
doll’s bed, tucked Lily up comfortably, and coming 
over to the window, knelt down, placed her elbows 
on the ledge, and looked out at the snowy land- 
scape. 

^'Hasn’t Hilda got lots and lots of presents?” 
she said, after a pause. 

Yes. I don’t want to see them though.” 


58 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


"Every one is giving her a present/’ continued 
Babs, in her calm voice, "even Miss Mills and the 
servants; Su^an told me that the school-children 
were collecting money to buy her something, and — 
may I tell you a ’mendous big secret, Judy?” 

Judy ceased to frown, and looked at Babs with a 
faint dawning of interest in her eyes. 

"I has got a present for her too,” said Babs, be- 
ginning to dance about. " I am going to give it 
till the day of the wedding. I buyed it my own 
self, and it’s quite beautiful. What are you going to 
give her, J udy ? ” 

" Nothing. I haven’t any money.” 

" I have half a sovereign in the savings bank, but 
I can’t take it out until after I am seven. I wish I 
could, for I could lend it to you to give Hilda a 
wedding present.” 

" I wish you could,” said J udy. " I’d like awfully 
to give her something. You might tell me what you 
have got, Babs.” 

" It’s some darning-cotton,” said Babs in a whis- 
per. " I buyed it last week with twopence-halfpenny ; 
you remember the day I went with Mrs. Sutton to 
town. She said it was a very useful thing, for Hilda 
will want to mend Jasper’s socks, and if she hasn’t 
darning-cotton handy maybe he’ll scold her.” 

" He wouldn’t dare to,” said J udy, with a frown ; 
" she shan't mend his horrid socks. Why did you 
get such a nasty wedding present, Babs ? ” 

A flush of delicate color spread all over Babs’ 
little fair face. She winked her blue eyes hard to 
keep back the tears which Judy’s scathing remarks 
were bringing to the surface, and said, after a 
pause : 

"It’s not a horrid present, it’s lovely; and any- 
how” — her voige becoming energetic as this happy 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 59 

mode of revenge occurred to her — it is better than 
yours, for you has got nothing at all.^^ 

Oh, 1^11 have something when the day comes, 
replied Judy, in a would-be careless tone. 

But you hasn’t any money.” 

Money isn’t everything. I’ll manage, you’ll see.” 

From this moment Judy’s whole heart and soul 
were absorbed in one fierce desire to give Hilda a 
present which should be better and sweeter and more 
full of love than anybody else’s. 

After two or three days of anxious thought and 
nights of troubled dreams, she made up her mind 
what her present should be. It should consist of 
holly berries and ivy, and these holly berries and 
that ivy should be picked by Judy’s own fingers, 
and should be made into a bouquet by J udy herself ; 
and the very center of this bouquet should contain a 
love note — a little twisted note into which Judy 
would pour some of her soul. It should be given 
to Hilda at the very last moment when she was 
starting for church ; and though she was all in white 
from top to toe — all in pure white, with a bouquet 
of white flowers in her hand — yet she should carry 
Judy’s bouquet, with its thorns and its crimson ber- 
ries, as a token of her little sister’s faithful love. 

She shall carry it to church with her,” said J udy, 
with inward passion. I’ll make her promise be- 
forehand, and I know she won’t break her word to 
me. It will be a little bit of me she’ll have with her, 
even when she is giving herself to that horrid Jas- 
per.” 

The little girl quite cheered up when this idea 
came to her. She became helpful and pleasant once 
more, and allowed Babs to chatter to her about the 
insect world, which had now practically gone to 
sleep ; and about the delights of the time when their 


60 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


chrysalides, which they had put away so carefully 
in the butterfly-case, should burst out into living and 
beautiful things. 

The day before the wedding came, and the whole 
house was in pleasant bustle and confusion. Nearly 
all the presents had arrived by this time. The school- 
children had come up to the rectory in a body to 
present Hilda with a very large and gaudily-decorated 
photographic album; the rectory servants had given 
the bride elect a cuckoo clock ; Miss Mills had 
blushed as she presented her with a birthday-book 
bound in white vellum ; Carter Patterson’s ” people 
were tired of coming up the avenue with box after 
box; and Aunt Marjorie was tired of counting on 
her fingers the names of the different friends who 
were to remember such an important event as Hilda 
Merton’s wedding. 

But for Aunt Marjorie Hilda would have given 
herself to Jasper in a very quiet and unobtrusive 
fashion. But this idea of a wedding was such in- 
tense grief to the old lady that Hilda and Jasper, 
rather against their wills, abandoned it, and Hilda 
was content to screen her lovely face behind a white 
veil, and to go to church decked as a bride 
should. 

It is positively economical to get a proper wed- 
ding dress,” said Aunt Marjorie; ‘^you’ll want it for 
the parties you’ll go to during your first season in 
town, Hilda. Of course Lady Malvern, Jasper’s aunt, 
will present you, and the dress with a little altera- 
tion will do very well to go to the drawing-room in. 
I shall desire the dressmaker to make the train quite 
half a yard extra, on purpose.” 

Aunt Marjorie had her way, and was sufficiently 
happy in her present life to forget the dull days 
which must follow, and to cease to think of the de- 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 61 

serted house when Hilda, and wealth and luxury, 
went away. 

It was the evening before the wedding-day, when 
Babs came solemnly into the room where her sister 
was sitting, and presented her with her wedding 
gift. 

^^It^s darning-cotton,’’ said Babs, in her gentle, 
full, satisfied fashion. Sutton said it would be use- 
ful, and that Jasper wouldn’t scold you if you had it 
handy.” 

What treason are you talking, Babs ? ” asked 
Quentyns, who was standing by Hilda’s side. 

He stooped down, and mounted her on his shoulder. 

Sutton says that husbands always scold their 
wives,” said Babs. 

Nonsense. Sutton doesn’t speak the truth. I 
would far rather scold myself than Hilda.” 

Well, at any rate here’s the cotton. I spent all 
my money on it except the ten shillings in the sav- 
ings bank; and, Hilda, you will use it when Jas- 
per’s socks get into holes.” 

Of course I will, you dear little darling,” said 
Hilda. ^‘1 think it is a perfectly sweet present. 
Give it to me; I was just packing my workbasket, 
and in it shall go this minute. I’ll think of you 
every time I use a thread of this cotton, Babs.” 

Babs, Miss Mills says it is quite time for you to 
go to bed,” said Judy, who was standing at the 
back of Hilda’s chair, softly touching her bright head 
from time to time with the tips of her little fingers. 

Quentyns laughed when Judy spoke in her solemn 
voice. 

And what about Judy’s time for going to bed ? ” 
he asked. 

Oh, I am much older than Babs, and Hilda 
said 


62 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


'^Yes, Jasper; I said Judy should have a little 
talk with me all by myself to-night/^ said Hilda, 
putting back her hand and drawing her little sister 
forward. Here’s a tiny bit of my chair for you to 
sit upon, Judy dearest.” 

Then I’ll take Babs upstairs,” said Jasper. Put 
your arms tightly round my neck, you quaint mon- 
key, and I’ll race up to your room with you.” 

Hilda,” said Judy, the moment the door had 
closed behind the two, ‘^I haven’t given you my 
present yet.” 

My darling,” said Hilda, when we love as you 
and I love each other, presents mean nothing — noth- 
ing at all. I know you have no money, dearest little 
Judy, and I think it was so sweet of you not to ask 
for any. Your present to me is your thoughtfulness ; 
no gift could be sweeter.” 

Hilda, may I rest my head against your shoul- 
der ? ” 

Of course, darling. How aren’t we cozy?” 

We are ; I feel warm now, and — and happy. I 
won’t be able to sit like this for a long time again.” 

Yes, you will, for you’re coming to stay with 
us; as soon as ever we get into our house, or our 
flat, or wherever we shall live, you are to come. One 
of the very first rooms I shall furnish will be your 
little bedroom, my Judy.” 

And then I can sit close to you every night. But 
oh, Hilda, he'll be there, he won’t like it.” 

Yes, he will ; he’ll like anything that I like. 
There is an old proverb that I must repeat for your 
benefit — ^ Love me, love my dog.’ That means that 
those whom I love you ought to love.” 

''Ought I? Very well, I’ll try to love — ^Jasper. 
Anything that you say I’ll try to do. Hilda, why 
does loving a person give pain? I have an ache in 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


63 


my heart — a big ache. There now, what a horrid 
girl I am! I am making your eyes fill with tears. 
You shan’t be unhappy just when you’re going to be 
made into a beautiful white bride. Sutton says it is 
unlucky for a bride to cry. You shan’t cry, Hilda, 
you shan’t — ^you mustn’t.” 

‘^But I can’t help crying, Judy, when I think that 
you are unhappy, and when you speak of your love 
to me as a pain.” 

'^I’ll never speak of it again. I’ll be happy — I 
won’t fret — ^no, I won’t fret at all, and I won’t cry 
even once,” said the child, making a valiant effort 
to bring a smile to her face. “ Hilda, will you 
promise me something very, very solemnly ? ” 

If it is in my power I certainly will, my pet.” 

You have not got my wedding present yet, Hilda ; 
but it is coming. Promise me ” 

‘^What, darling?” 

Promise to take it to church with you to-morrow 
— I’ll give it to you just before church — it will be 
full of me — my very heart will be in it — take it to 
church with you, Hilda, and hold it in your hand 
when you’re giving yourself to Jasper — promise — 
promise.” 

^^How excited you are, my dearest! If it makes 
you really happy to know that I shall hold some- 
thing of yours in my hand when I am being married, 
I will certainly do so.” 

Oh, it does make me happy, it does ! ” 


64 


A YOtTNa MtTTlNEEfl. 


CHAPTEE VIL 

A WEDDING PRESENT. 

But my lover will not prize 
All the glory that he rides in. 

When he gazes in my face: 

He will say: “ O love, thine eyes 
Build the shrine my soul abides in. 

And I kneel here for thy grace! ” 

— E. Bareett-Bbowninq. 

There was a holly tree not far from the church 
with berries so red and leaves so green and shining 
that it was generally denuded of its beauties to dec- 
orate the most important parts of the church. 

Judy knew this holly tree well. It had been much 
crippled in shape and color for the Christmas decora- 
tions, but one perfect branch had been left where 
the berries still grew in full rich clusters — this spe- 
cial branch had not been noticed by the gardener 
when he was cutting the holly for Christmas, and 
Judy determined that from it she would pick the 
crimson berries which were to constitute Hilda’s wed- 
ding present. 

'' Barnes,” she said to the old gardener the day be- 
fore, you mustn’t allow any one to touch my bough 
of holly.” 

''Well, Miss Judy, you’re a queer child; what 
bough of holly do you mean ? ” 

"The bough on the round tree near the church. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


65 


1 want it most particular badl}^; you won’t let any 
one pick it — will you, Barnes ? ” 

‘‘No, that I won’t,” said Barnes good-naturedly; 
and Judy, quite satisfied and happy in her mind, 
ran away. 

On the wedding morning, just when the day broke, 
she got softly, very softly out of bed. Babs was 
having happy dreams at the moment, for smiles were 
flitting across her face and her lips were moving. 
Judy, heavy-eyed and pale, rose from her broken 
slumbers and proceeded to dress herself. She must 
go out nov to fetch her holly bough. She could 
dress herself nicely; and putting on a warm jacket 
she ran down stairs and let herself out into the foggy, 
frosty air. She was warmly clad as to her head 
and throat, but she had not considered it necessary 
to put on her out-door boots. The boots took a long 
time to lace, and as she did not expect to he absent 
from the house more than ten or twelve minutes, she 
did not think it worth while to go to this trouble. 

She ran swiftly now, her heart beating with a cer- 
tain pleasurable excitement. It was so nice to be 
able to make a beautiful, quaint wedding present out 
of the red berries and the glistening leaves and the 
little note full of love hiding away in their depths. 
How delighted Hilda would be by and by to open that 
note and to read some of Judy’s innermost thoughts. 

“ Even though she has Jasper, she loves me,” 
thought the child. “ She will know something of 
what I think of her, the darling, when she has read 
my note.” 

The little letter, written on a tiny pink sheet of 
paper, was put away all ready in Judy’s drawer; 
she had but to cut the bough of holly and her unique 
wedding present would be almost ready. She reached 
the tree, having to go to it through long grass heavy 


66 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


with hoar frost. Her stockings and feet were already 
very wet, but she thought nothing of this fact in her 
excitement. She had a small knife in her pocket 
which she proceeded to take out in order to cut the 
bough away — it grew low down and she had to pull 
the grass aside to look for it. 

Alack, and alas! where was it, who had taken it? 
Had wicked, wicked Barnes been faithless? There 
was a torn gash on the trunk of the tree, and no 
long bough red with berries was anywhere to be seen. 

Poor little Judy could not help uttering a cry of 
anguish. Hot anger against Barnes swelled up in 
her heart. Miss Mills was in reality the culprit. 
Knowing nothing of Judy’s desire, she had cut the 
bough late the night before for some window deco- 
ration. ' 

I won’t go back to the house until I get some 
holly,” thought the child. She wiped away her fast- 
falling tears and set her sharp little wits to work. 
This was the most scarce time in the whole winter 
for holly berries, the greater number of them hav- 
ing been used for church and Christmas decorations ; 
but Judy, whose keen eyes noticed Nature in all her 
aspects, suddenly remembered that on the borders of 
a lake nearly a mile away grew another holly tree — 
a small and unremarkable bush which might yet 
contain sufficient bright berries for her purpose. 
Without an instant’s hesitation she determined to 
walk that mile and reach that tree. She must go 
quickly if she would be back before any one noticed 
her. She was particularly anxious that her gift 
should not be seen in advance. Running, racing, 
and scrambling she effected her purpose, reached the 
tree, secured some berries and leaves, and returned 
to the house wet through and very tired. 

Babs was rubbing her eyes and stretching her limbs 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 07 

in her snug bed in the nursery when her sister came 
back. 

‘^Oh, Judy, what have you been doing she ex- 
claimed, sitting up and staring in round-eyed aston- 
ishment. 

Hush, Babs,’’ said Judy, don’t speak for a mo- 
ment — don’t say a single word until I have locked 
the door.” 

"^But you oughtn’t to lock the door. Miss Mills 
doesn’t wish it.” 

I am going to disob^ her.” 

But you’ll be punished.” 

I don’t care.” 

The key was turned in the lock, and Judy, going 
over to Babs’ bed, exhibited her spoils. 

See,” she said, here’s my wedding present.” 

" Did you go to fetch those holly berries this morn- 
ing ? ” asked Babs. 

Yes, I did, and I had to go a long way for them 
too ; that horrid, wicked old Barnes had cut away my 
bough, and I had to go all the way to the lake.” 

‘‘ Your feet do look so sloppy and wet.” 

So they are, they are soaking ; I forgot to put 
on my boots.” 

Oh, won’t you catch an awful cold ! won’t Miss 
Mills be angry ! ” 

" Never mind ; I’ll change my stockings and shoes 
after I have arranged my present.” 

" It’s such a funny wedding present,” said Babs. 

Do you think Hilda will like it ? ” 

She’ll do more than like it : she’ll love it. Don’t 
talk to me any more — I’m too busy to answer you.” 

Babs fidgeted and mumbled to herself. J udy stood 
with her back to her. She used her little fingers 
deftly — her taste as to arrangement and color was 
perfect. The sharp thorns picked her poor little fin- 


68 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


gers, but she was rather glad than otherwise to suffer 
in Hilda’s cause. The wedding present was com- 
plete ; no sign of the note could be seen in the midst 
of the green leaves and crimson berries. Judy un- 
locked the door and tumbled back into bed. 

Miss Mills knew nothing of her escapade, for Babs 
was far too stanch to betray her. 

Just as Hilda in a cloud of white was stepping 
into the carriage to go to church that morning, a 
little figure, also in cloudy white, with wide-open 
greeny-gray eyes, under which heavy dark marks were 
already visible, rushed up to her and thrust some- 
thing into her hand. 

Your — ^your wedding present, Hilda,” gasped 
Judy. The strong colors of the red and green made 
almost a blot upon Hilda’s fairness. Her father, 
who was accompanying her to church inter- 
posed. 

Stand back, my dear, stand back, J udy,” he 
said. Hilda, you had better leave those berries in 
the hall; you’re surely not going to take them to 
church.” 

^^Your promise, Hilda, your faithful promise,” 
said Judy in an imploring voice. 

Hilda looked at the child; she remembered her 
words of the night before, and holding the prickly 
little bunch firmly, said in a gentle voice : 

I particularly want to take J udy’s present to 
church with me, father.” 

As you like, my love, of course ; but it is not at 
all in keeping with that lovely bouquet of hot-house 
white fiowers sent to you by Lady Dellacoeur.” 

Then if so. Lady Dellacoeur’s flowers shall stay 
at home,” said Hilda. She tossed the splendid bou- 
quet on the hall table, and with Judy’s holly berries 
in her hand, sprang into the carriage. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 69 

Isn’t she a darling?” said Judy, turning with 
eyes that glowed in their happiness to Miss Mills. 

A goose, I call her,” muttered Miss Mills ; but 
Judy neither heard nor heeded her words. 

The little church was nearly full of spectators, 
and one and all did not fail to remark Judy’s wed- 
ding present. A bride in white from top to toe — a 
lovely bride in the tenderest bloom of youth, to carry 
a bouquet of strong dark green and crimson — had 
anything so incongruous ever been seen before ? But 
Hilda held the flowers tightly, and Judy’s hungry 
heart was satisfied. 

Good-by, my darling,” said Hilda to her little 
sister a couple of hours later; good-by, Judy; my 
first letter shall be to you, and I will carefully keep 
your dear wedding present.” 

Hilda, Hilda, there’s a little note inside of it, 
in the heart of it; you’ll read it, won’t you, and 
you won’t show it to J asper ? ” 

If you wish me not, I won’t, dearest. How hot 
your lips are, Judy, and how flushed your face.” 

^^I am just a wee bit shivery,” said Judy, ‘^but 
it’s nothing, nothing at all. I’ll promise you not to 
fret, Hilda. Good-by, dear, dear, darling Hilda.” 

Good-by, my sweetest little treasure, good-by.” 

Hilda got into the carriage; her husband took his 
place by her side. Mildred Anstruther tossed a great 
shower of rice after them. Miss Mills and Babs 
hurled slippers down the avenue, Judy was nowhere 
to be seen. 

Hilda,” said Quentyns, as they were driving to 
the station, '"why did you have such a very funny 
bouquet in church? You showed me Lady Del- 
lacoeur’s flowers last night. Why didn’t you wear 
them, darling ? Those harsh holly berries and leaves 
weren’t in your usual taste.” 


70 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


^^But you’re not angry with me for carrying that 
little bouquet, Jasper, are you?” 

My darling, could I be angry with you for any- 
thing ? ” 

^‘The little bunch of holly was Judy’s wedding 
present,” said Hilda, tears dimming her eyes ; I 
promised her that I would wear them. Sweet little 
darling, my heart aches at leaving her.” 

Quentyns took Hilda’s hand and held it firmly 
within his own. He said some sympathetic words, 
for Hilda’s slightest grief was grief to him, but in 
his heart he could not help murmuring: 

That tiresome, morbid child. Poor darling Hilda, 
I must show her very gently and gradually how ter- 
ribly she is spoiling J udy.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


HONEYMOON. 

The night is in her hair 
And giveth shade for shade, 

And the pale moonlight on her forehead white 
Like a spirit’s hand is laid; 

Her lips part with a smile 
Instead of speakings done: 

I ween she thinketh of a voice, 

Albeit uttering none. 

— Mrs. Barrett-Browning. 

A MONTH later Mrs. Quentyns was sitting in one 
of the largest hotels at Rome waiting for her hus- 
band to come in. The day was so balmy and genial 
that it was almost impossible for Hilda to believe 
that the time of year was early February. Dressed 
in dark-green velvet, with a creamy feather boa lying 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


n 


by her side, Hilda sat amid all her unaccustomed sur- 
roundings, her eyes looking straight down the lofty 
room and her thoughts far away. The bride was 
thinking of her English home — she was an intensely 
happy bride — she leved her husband devotedly — she 
looked forward to a good and blessed life by his side, 
but still (and to her credit be it spoken) she could 
not forget old times. In the rectory gardens now 
the crocuses and snowdrops were putting out their 
first dark-green leaves, and showing their tender pet- 
als to the faint winter sunshine. Judy and Babs, 
wrapped in furs from top to toe, were taking their 
afternoon walk — Babs was looking in vain for insect 
life in the hedges, and Judy was opening her big 
eyes wide to see the first green bud that ventured to 
put out its little tip to be greeted by the winter cold. 
Aunt Marjorie was learning to make use of her legs, 
and was glowing with warmth of body and vexation 
of spirit. The rector was tranquilly writing a sermon 
which, notwithstanding its polished diction, should 
yet show the workings of a new spirit which would 
move his congregation on Sunday. 

Hilda seemed to see the whole picture — ^but her 
mind^s eye rested longest on the figure of the tall, 
rather overgrown child, whose eyes always wore too 
hungry an expression for perfect happiness. 

Little darling,” murmured Hilda, ‘^how I wish 
I had her with me here — she’d appreciate things so 
wonderfully. It is the greatest treat in the world 
to take Judy to see a really good picture — how her 
eyes shine in her dear face when she looks at it. My 
sweet little Judy, Jasper does not care for me to talk 
much to you, but I love you with all my heart and 
soul ; it is one drawback to my perfect happiness that 
I must be parted from you.” 

Hilda rose as she spoke, and going over to a table 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


^2 

on which her traveling-bag stood, opened it, pressed 
the spring on a certain lock, and taking out a little 
crumpled, stained letter, read the words written on 
it. 


darling Hilda,” wrote the poor little scribe, 
^Hhis is to say that I love you better than any one 
else in the world. I’ll always go on loving you best 
of all. Please take a thousand million kisses, and 
never forget Judy. 

‘‘P. S. — I’ll pray for you every day and every 
night. I hope you will be very happy. I won’t fret 
if you don’t. This letter is packed with love. 

Judy.” 

A step was heard along the passage ; Hilda folded, 
up the letter, slipped it back into its hiding-place, 
and ran down the long room to meet her husband. 

Well, my darling,” he exclaimed, the English 
mail has just come in, and here’s a budget for you.” 

And a budget for you too, Jasper. What a heap 
of letters ! ” 

Yes, and one of them is from Rivers. He rather 
wants me in London: there^s a good case coming on 
at the law courts ; he says I shall be counsel for it if 
I’m in town. What do you say to coming back to 
London on Saturday, Hilda ? ” 

^^You know I shall be only too delighted; I am 
just pining to be home again. Do you think we 
could go down to the rectory? I should so like to 
spend Sunday there.” 

My darling, what are you thinking of ? I want 
to be in London, not in Hampshire. Now that I 
have got you, sweetheart, I must neglect no chance 
of work.” 

Hilda’s face turned slightly pale. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


73 


Of course, darling,” she said, looking up sweetly 
at her tall husband; “but where are we to go on 
Saturday night? — ^you spoke of going home.” 

“ And so we are going home, my love — or rather we 
are going toward home; but as we have not taken a 
house yet we must spend a week with the Malverns 
when first we get to England. I will send a line to 
my aunt, and tell her to expect us on Satur- 
day.” 

Hilda said nothing more. She smothered the ghost 
of a sigh, and sitting down by the wood fire, which, 
notwithstanding the genial weather, was acceptable 
enough in their lofty room, began to open her letters. 
The rectory budget was of course first attended to. 
It contained several inclosures — one from her father, 
which was short and principally occupied over a re- 
view of the last new theological book he had been 
reading, one from Aunt Marjorie, and one from Miss 
Mills. 

“ None from Judy,” said Hilda, in a voice of sur- 
prise; “she has only written to me once since we 
were married.” 

She spoke aloud, and looked up at her husband 
for sympathy. He was reading a letter of his own, 
and its contents seemed to amuse him, for he broke 
into a hearty laugh. 

“What is it, Jasper?” asked Hilda. “What is 
amusing you ? ” 

“ Something Rivers has said, my love. I’ll tell 
you presently. Capital fellow he is; if I get this 
brief I shall be in tremendous luck.” 

Hilda opened Aunt Marjorie’s letter and began to 
read. The old lady was a somewhat rambling cor- 
respondent. Her letters were always closely written 
and voluminous. Hilda had to strain her young eyes 
to decipher all the sentences, 


u 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


must say 1 dislike poverty/’ wrote Aunt Mar- 
jorie; ^^you are well out of it, Hilda. It is my 
private conviction that your father has absolutely 
forgotten that his income has jumped down in a 
single day from three thousand three hundred and 
fifty pounds a year to the three hundred and fifty 
'without the odd thousands; he goes on just as he has 
always done, and is perfectly happy. Dean Sharp 
sent him his last book a week ago, and he has done 
nothing but read it and talk of it ever since — his 
conversation in consequence is most tiresome. I miss 
you awfully, my love. I never could stand theolog}^ 
even when I was surrounded by comforts, and now 
when I have to stint the fires and suffer from cold 
feet, you may imagine how unpleasant it is to me. 
My dear Hilda, I am afraid I shall not be able to 
keep Miss Mills, she seems to get sillier every day ; it 
is my private conviction that she has a love affair on, 
hut she’s as mum as possible about it. Poor Sutton 
cried in a most heartrending way when she left; 
she said when leaving, ^I’ll never get another mis- 
tress like you, ma’am, for you never interfere, even 
to the clearing of the jellies.’ I am glad she appre- 
ciates me ; I didn’t think she did while she was living 
with us. The new cook can’t attempt anything in 
the way of soup, so I have given it up for dinner ; but 
your father never appears to miss it. The garden is 
looking horrible, so many weeds about. The An- 
struthers have all gone up to London — taken a house 
for the season at an enormous price. How those peo- 
ple do squander money; may they never know what 
it is for it to take to itself wings ! 

By the way, J udy has not been well ; she caught 
cold or something the day of your wedding, and was 
laid up with a nasty little feverish attack and cough. 
We had to send for Dr. Harvey, who said she had 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Y5 

a ehill, and was a good deal run down. She’s np 
again now, but looks like a ghost with her big eyes. 
She certainly is a most peculiar child — I don’t pre- 
tend to understand her. She crept into the room a 
minute ago, and I told her I was writing to you, and 
asked her if she had any message. She got pink all 
over just as if she were going to cry, and then said : 

“ ^ Tell Hilda that I am not fretting a bit, that I 
am as happy as possible. Give her my dear love and 
heaps of kisses.’ (My dear Hilda, you must take 
them for granted, for I am not going to put crosses 
all over the letter.) 

Then she ran out of the room as if she had 
nothing further to say — really a most queer child. 
Babs is a little treasure and the comfort of my life. 

‘^Your affectionate old aunt, 

Marjorie.” 

Jasper!” said Hilda, in a choked sort of voice. 

Jasper I ” 

^^\^at is it, my darling? Why, how queer you 
look — your face is quite white ! ” 

^^It is about Judy; she’s not well,” said Hilda. 

I ought to go to her, I ought not to delay. Couldn’t 
we catch the night mail ? ” 

Good gracious 1 ” said Quentyns, alarmed by 
Hilda’s manner. ^^What is wrong with the child? 

If it is anything infectious ’ 

^^Ho, no, it is nothing of that sort; but in any 
case, whether it is, I ought to go to her— I ought 
not to delay. May I telegraph to say we are start- 
ing at once ? ” 

‘^My darling, how excitable you are! What can 
be wrong with the child ? ” 

^^Oh, Jasper, you don’t understand — Aunt Mar- 
jorie says — Here, read this bit.” 


76 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


I can’t read that crabbed, crossed writing, Hilda.” 

Well, I’ll read it aloud to you ; see where it be- 
gins — ^ Judy has not been well — ’ ” Hilda read the 
whole passage, a lump in her throat almost choking 
her voice. When she had finished Quentyns put his 
arms round her and drew her to his heart. 

^^Why, you poor little, foolish, nervous creature,” 
he said, there’s nothing wrong with Judy now; she 
was ill, but she’s much better. My darling Hilda — 
my love, you must really not disturb yourself about 
a trifie of this sort.” 

“It isn’t a trifle, Jasper. Oh, I know Judy — I 
know how she looks and what she feels. Oh, do, do 
let me go back to her, darling.” 

“ You read that letter in such a perturbed sort of 
voice that I can scarcely follow its meanings,” said 
Quentyns. “ Here, give it to me, and let me see 
for myself what it is all about. Why will old ladies 
write such villainous hands? Where does the pas- 
sage begin, Hilda? Sit down, darling, quiet your- 
self. Now let me see, here it is — ^ Judy has not 
been well ” 

Hilda’s hands had shaken with nervousness while 
she read her aunt’s letter aloud, but Quentyns held 
the sheet of thin paper steadily. As the sentences 
fell from his lips his full tones seemed to put new 
meaning into them — the ghostly terrors died out of 
Hilda’s heart. When her husband laid down the 
sheet of paper, and turned to her with a triumphant 
smile, she could not help smiling back at him in re- 
turn. 

“ There,” he said, “ did not I tell you there was 
nothing wrong with Judy now? What a little goose 
you are ! ” 

“I suppose I am; and if you really, really think 
— if you are quite sure that she’s all right ” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


11 

Of course, I am absolutely certain ; doesn’t Aunt 
Marjorie say so? The fact is, Hilda, you make too 
great a fuss about that little sister of yours — I feel 
almost jealous of her.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

STARVED. 

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange 
And he all to me? Shall I never miss 
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss? 

— E. Bareett-Browning. 

In the first pleasant springtime of that same year 
Mrs. Anstruther, a very gay and fashionable-looking 
woman of between forty and fifty years of age, turned' 
on a certain morning to her daughter and made a re- 
mark : 

Don’t forget that we must pay some calls this 
afternoon, Mildred.” 

Mildred was standing by the window of their 
beautiful drawing-room. The window boxes had just 
been filled with lovely spring flowers; she was bend- 
ing over them and with deft fingers arranging the 
blossoms and making certain small alterations, which 
had the effect of grouping the different masses of 
color more artistically than the gardener had done. 

^^Yes, mother,” she said, half-turning her hand- 
some head and glancing back at her parent. We 
are to make calls. I am quite agreeable.” 

^^I wish you would take an interest, Mildred; it 
is so unpleasant going about with people who are 
only just ^ quite agreeable.’ Now, when I was a 
young girl ” 


^8 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Oh, please, mother, don’t ! The times have com- 
pletely changed since you were young; enthusiasm 
has gone out of fashion. I am nothing if I am not 
fashionable! Of course, if calls have to be made, I 
shall make them. I’ll put on my most becoming 
bonnet, and my prettiest costume, and I’ll sit in the 
carriage by your side, and enter the houses of those 
friends who happen to be at home, and I’ll smile 
and look agreeable, and people will say, ^ What an 
amiable woman Miss Anstruther is ! ’ I’ll do the 
correct thing of course, only I suppose it is not neces- 
sary for my heart to go pitter-patter over it. By the 
way, have 3^011 made out a list of the unfortunates who 
are to be victimized by our presence this afternoon ? ” 

Mrs. Anstruther sighed, and gazed in some dis- 
content at her daughter. 

It is so disagreeable not to understand people,” 
she said. ‘^I don’t profess to understand you, Mil- 
dred. If you will give me my visiting-book I can 
soon tell you the places where we ought to go. And 
oh, by the way, should we not call on Hilda 
Quentyns? — she has taken a house somewhere in 
West Kensington.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me that the Quentyns are 
in town ? ” said Mildred, turning sharply round and 
gazing at her mother. 

^^.Of course; they have been in London for some 
time. I met Lady Malvern yesterday, and she gave 
me Hilda’s address. She seems to have gone to live 
in a very poky place. See, I have entered the name 
in my address book — 10 Philippa Road, West Ken- 
sington.” 

Then of course we’ll go to her — that will be really 
nice,” said Mildred with enthusiasm. We might 
go to Hilda first and spend some little time with 
her.” 


A YOUNG MUTiNEEft. 79 

" But Mrs. Milward’s ^ at home ’ begins quite early. 
I should not like to miss that.’^ 

Who cares for Mrs. Milward ! Look here, mother, 
suppose you pay the calls and let me go and see 
Hilda. I have a good deal I want to talk over with 
her; for one thing, I want to say something about 
Judy.’^ 

"Poor, queer little Judy,” said Mrs. Anstruther 
with a laugh. " What can you possibly have to say 
about her ? ” 

"I don’t think Judy is at all well,” said Mil- 
dred. " There is such a thing as dying of heart- 
hunger. If ever a child suffered from that old- 
fashioned complaint it is that poor mite at Little 
Staunton rectory.” 

" My dear Mildred, you get more absurd every day. 
Judy lives in a most comfortable home, for notwith- 
standing their poverty, old Aunt Marjorie manages 
to keep everything going in really respectable style. 
The child has a loving father, a devoted aunt, a dear 
little sister, and an excellent governess, and you talk 
of her dying of heart-hunger ! It is absurd ! ” 

" Nevertheless,” said Mildred — she stopped ab- 
ruptly, her bright eyes looked across the room and out 
through the open window — " Nevertheless,” she said, 
giving her foot an impatient tap, "I should like to 
see Hilda. I should like to have a long talk with her. 
I have heard nothing about her since her wedding, so 
by your leave, mother. I’ll drive over to West Ken- 
sington immediately after lunch and send the vic- 
toria back for you.” 

Mrs. Anstruther, who was always more or less like 
wax in the hands of her strong-minded daughter, was 
obliged somewhat unwillingly to submit to this ar- 
rangement; and Mildred, charmingly dressed and 
looking young and lovely, was bowled rapidly away 


80 


A ‘YOUNG MUTINEER. 


in the direction of Hilda Quentyns’ humble home 
soon after two o’clock. 

It will be pleasant to take the poor old dear by 
surprise/’ said Mildred to herself. “ There was a 
time when I felt jealous of her good fortune in hav- 
ing secured Jasper Quentyns, but, thank goodness, 
I have quite got over the assaults of the green-eyed 
monster now. Ah, here we are. What a queer little 
street! — what frightfully new and yet picturesque 
houses! They look like dovecotes. I wonder if 
this pair of turtle-doves coo in their nest all day 
long.” 

The footman jumped down and rang the door bell. 
In a moment a neatly dressed but very young-look- 
ing servant stood in the open doorway. 

‘^Yes, Mrs. Quentyns was at home,” she said, 
and Mildred entered Hilda’s pretty house. 

She went into the drawing-room, and stood some- 
what impatiently waiting for her hostess to appear. 
The little room was furnished with an eye to artistic 
effect, the walls were decorated with good taste. The 
furniture was new, as well as pretty. One beautiful 
photogravure from Burne-Jones’ Wheel of For- 
tune ” was hung over the mantelpiece. Hilda and 
Quentyns, faithfully represented by an Italian photo- 
grapher, stood side by side in a little frame on one of 
the brackets. Mildred felt herself drawing one or 
two heavy sighs. 

^^I don’t know what there is about this little 
room, but I like it,” she murmured; ‘^nay, more, 
I love it. I can fancy good people inhabitating it. 
I am quite certain that love has not yet flown out 
of the window. I am quite sure, too, of another 
thing, that even if poverty does come in at this 
door, love will remain. Oh, silly Hilda, what have 
you to do with the ‘ Wheel of Fortune ’ ? Your posi- 


A YOUNG mutineer. 

tion is assured; you dwell safely enthroned in the 
heart of a good man. Oh, happy Hilda ! ” 

The door was opened, and Hilda Quentyns, smil- 
ing, with roses on her cheeks and words of delighted 
welcome on her lips, rushed into the room. 

‘^How sweet of you to call, Mildred,” she ex- 
claimed. I was just wondering if you would take 
any notice of me.” 

You dear creature,” said Mildred, kissing Hilda 
and patting her on the shoulder. Two hours ago 
I heard for the first time that you were in London. 
I ate my lunch and ordered the victoria, and put on 
my prettiest bonnet and drove over to see you as 
fast as ever the horses would bring me. I could not 
well pay my respects to Mrs. Quentyns in a shorter 
time.” 

I am very glad to see you,” said Hilda. 

^^How childish you look,” replied Mildred, gaz- 
ing at her in a rather dissatisfied way; “you have 
no responsibilities at all now; your Jasper takes the 
weight of everything, and you live in perpetual sun- 
shine. Is the state of bliss as blissful as we have 
always been led to imagine, Hilda, or are the fairy 
tales untrue, and does the prince only exist in one’s 
imagination ? ” 

“Oh, no, he is real, quite real,” said Hilda. “I 
am as happy as it is possible for a human being to 
be. Jasper — but I won’t talk of him — you know 
what I really think of him. Now let me show you 
my house. Isn’t it a sweet little home? Wasn’t it 
good of Jasper to come here? He wanted a fiat, 
but when he saw that my heart was set on a little 
house he took this. Don’t you like our taste in 
furniture, Milly? Oh, Milly dear, I am glad to see 
you. It is nice to look at one of the dear home- 
faces again.” 




A YOUi^G MUTlNEMtl. 


Come and show me your house,” said Mildred ; 

I am going to stay a long time — all the afternoon, 
if possible.” 

I am more than glad ; you must remain to din- 
ner. I will telegraph to Jasper to come home 
early.” 

don’t mind if I do,” said Mildred. have 
no very special engagements for this evening, and 
even if I had I should be disposed to break them. 
It is not often one gets the chance of spending an 
hour in a nest with two turtle-doves.” 

Come, come,” said Hilda, that sounds as if you 
were laughing at us. How you shall see the house, 
and then we’ll have tea together, and you must tell 
me all about the old place.” 

The turtle-doves’ nest was a very minute abode. 
There was only one story, and the bedrooms in con- 
sequence were small and few. 

Aren’t we delightedly economical ? ” said Hilda, 
throwing open the door of her own room. ^^Is not 
this wee chamber the perfection of snugness? and 
this is Jasper’s dressing-room, and here is such a 
dear little bathroom; and this is the spare room 
(we have not furnished it yet, but Jasper says we 
can’t afford to have many visitors, so I’m not making 
any special haste). And this is our servants’-room ; 
I did not think when we lived at Little Staunton 
that two servants could fit into such a tiny closet, but 
these London girls seem quite to like it. How, Mil- 
dred, come downstairs. You have looked over this 
thimbleful of a house, and I hope it has pleased you. 
Come downstairs and let us talk. I am starving for 
news.” 

Well, my dear, begin catechizing to your heart’s 
content,” said Mildred. She threw herself back into 
the easiest of the easy-chairs as she spoke, and toasted 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. S3 

her feet before Hilda’s cheerful fire. What do you 
want to know first, Mrs. Quentyns ? ” 

‘'How long is it since you left home — when did 
you see them all ? ” 

"I was at home a fortnight ago, and I spent the 
greater part of one afternoon at the rectory.” 

" Oh, did you. Is it awfully changed ? ” 

" Ho ; the house is in statu quo. It looks just as 
handsome and stately and unconcerned as of old. 
Aunt Marjorie says it is full of dust, but I did not 
notice any. Aunt Marjorie has got quite a new 
wrinkle between her brows, and she complains a 
great deal of the young cook, but my private opinion 
is that that unfortunate cook is your aunt’s salvation, 
for she gives her something else to think of besides 
the one perpetual grievance.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” said Hilda, a little impatiently, 
“ poor dear Aunt Maggie ; and what about the others ? 
How is my father ? ” 

“ He looks thin, and his hair is decidedly sil- 
vered; but his eyes just beamed at me with kind- 
ness. He never spoke once about the change in his 
circumstances, and on Sunday he preached a sermon 
which set me crying.” 

“ Dear Mildred, I think father’s sermons were al- 
ways beautiful. How I should like to hear him once 
again ! ” 

" So you will, of course, very soon ; they’re all 
expecting you down. Why don’t you go ? ” 

The faintest shadow of a cloud flitted across Hilda’s 
face. 

" J asper is so busy,” she said. 

" Well, go without him. I am quite convinced 
you would do them a sight of good.” 

“Jasper does not like me to leave him,” said 
Hilda ; “ we both intend to run down to the rectory 


84 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


for a flying visit soon, but he is so busy just at 
present that he cannot fix a day. Go on, Milly; 
tell me about the other. What of Babs ? 

I saw her squatting down on the middle of the 
floor with a blind kitten just three days old in her 
lap. The kitten squalled frightfully, and Babs kept 
on calling it ^ poor, pretty darling.’ I thought badly 
of the kitten’s future prospects, but well of its nurse; 
she looked particularly flourishing.” 

‘^And Judy?” said Hilda, she wasn’t well a 
little time ago, but Aunt Marjorie has said nothing 
about her health lately. Has she quite, quite re- 
covered? Did she look ill? Did you see much of 
her?” 

She was sitting in the inglenook, reading a book.” 

Reading a book ! ” said Hilda ; but J udy does 
not like reading. Was the day wet when you called 
at the rectory ? ” 

Ho; the sun was shining all the time.” 

Why wasn’t she out scampering and running all 
the time, and hunting for grubs ! ” 

She had a cough, not much, just a little hack, 
and Aunt Marjorie thought she had better stay in- 
doors.” 

Then she is not quite well ! ” 

^^Aunt Marjorie says she is, and that the hack is 
nothing at all. , By the way, Hilda, if your husband 
won’t spare you to go down to the rectory, why 
don’t you have that child here on a visit? Nothing 
in the world would do her so much good as a sight 
of your face.” 

Oh, I know, I know; my little Judy, my treas- 
ure! But the spare room is not ready, and Jasper 
is so prudent, he won’t go in debt for even a shil- 
ling’s-worth. He has spent all his available money 
on the house furnishing, and says the spare room 


A YOUNG MUTINEER, 


85 


must wait for a month or so. As soon as ever it is 
furnished Judy is to be the first guest."’ 

Can’t you hire a little bedstead of some sort ? ” 
said Mildred, “ and put it up in that room, and send 
for the child. What does Judy care about furnished 
rooms ! ” 

^^You think she looks really ill, do you, Mil- 
dred ? ” 

will be candid with you, Hilda. I did not 
like her look — she suffers. It is sad to read suffer- 
ing in a child’s eyes. When I got a peep into 
Judy’s eyes I could see that her soul was drooping 
for want of nourishment. She is without that thing 
which is essential to her.” 

And what is that ? ” 

Your love. Do send for her, Hilda. Never mind 
whether the spare room is furnished or not.” 

Hilda sat and fidgeted with her gold chain. Her 
face, which had been full of smiles and dimples, was 
now pale with emotion, her eyes were full of trouble. 

Why are you so irresolute ? ” asked Mildred. 

Oh, I — I don’t know. I am not quite my own 
mistress. I — I must think.” The servant entered 
the room with a letter on a little salver. Hilda took 
it up. 

Why, this is from Judy,” she exclaimed. Per- 
haps she’s much better already. Do you mind my 
reading it, Mildred ? ” 

^^Read it, certainly. I shall like to know how 
the dear queer mite is getting on.” 

Hilda opened her letter, and, taking out a tiny 
pink sheet, read a few words written on it. 

My Dear Hilda : I am writing you a little let- 
ter. I hope you are quite well. I don’t fret, and I 
hope you don’t. I think of you and never forget you. 


86 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


I give you a kiss for now and for to-niglit, and for 
every other night, and a million, thousand kisses for 
always. 

^^Your loving Judy. 

‘^Here are my kisses.” 

A whole lot of crosses and round o’s followed. 

Here is my text for us both. ^ The Lord watch 
between me and thee.’ 

Judy.” 


Hilda’s eyes filled with sudden tears. 

There is something else in the envelope,” she 
exclaimed. think a scrawl from Aunt Marjorie. 
I had a volume from her yesterday. I wonder what 
she wants to write about again.” 

^^My Darling Hilda: Now don’t be frightened 
my dear, but I have something to tell you which I 
think you ought to know. Our dear little Judy 
fainted in a rather alarming way in church yesterday. 
Of course we sent for the doctor, and he says she is 
very weak, and must stay in bed for a day or two. 
He says w^e need not be alarmed, but that her 
strength is a good deal run down, and that she must 
have been fretting about something. It just shows 
how little doctors know, for I never saw the child 
sweeter, or more gentle, or more easily amused. 
You know what a troublesome little creature she 
used to be, always flashing about and upsetting things, 
and bringing all kinds of obnoxious insects into the 
house; but she has been just like a lamb since your 
wedding, sitting contentedly by my side looking over 
her fairy-story books, and assuring me she wasn’t 
fretting in the least about you, and that she was per- 
fectly happy. Babs did say that she heard her crying 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


8Y 

now and then at night, but I fancy the child must 
have been mistaken, for Judy certainly would not 
conceal any trouble from me. I will write to you 
again about her to-morrow. She directed this en- 
velope to you herself yesterday morning before 
church, so I am slipping my letter into it. Don’t be 
frightened, dear, we are taking all possible care of 
her. Your affectionate 

"Aunt Marjorie.” 

" There,” said Hilda, looking up with a queer, 
terrified expression in her eyes, " I knew how it 
would be. I married Jasper to please myself, and I 
have killed Judy. Judy’s heart is broken. Oh, 
what shall I do, Milly, what shall I do ? ” 

"Let me read Aunt Marjorie’s letter,” said Mil- 
dred. 

Her quick, practical eyes glanced rapidly over the 
old lady’s illegible writing. 

" I don’t think you have killed her, Hilda,” said 
Miss Anstruther then, "but she is simply fading 
away for want of love which was her life. Go back 
to her; go back at once, and she will revive. Come, 
there is not a moment to be lost. I’ll run out and 
send a telegram to Little Staunton. I’ll tell them to 
expect you this evening. Where’s an A B C ? Have 
you got one ? ” 

" I think there is one on the wagon in the dining- 
room. I’ll fetch it.” 

Hilda ran out of the room; she brought back the 
time-table in a moment. Her face was white; her 
hands shook so that she could scarcely turn the 
leaves. 

"Let me find the place,” said Mildred. "There, 
let me see. Oh, what a pity, you have lost the four 
o’clock train, and there isn’t another until seven. 


88 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Never mind, say you will take that one. You’ll 
arrive at Bickley at twenty minutes to ten, and 
soon after ten you’ll be at the rectory. I’ll run at 
once and send off the telegram, for the sooner 
Judy’s heart is relieved the better.” 

Mildred rushed to the davenport, filled in a tele- 
graph form, and brought it to Hilda to read. 

There, is that right ? ” she exclaimed. Put 
3mir name to it if you are satisfied.” 

Hilda dashed the tears, which were still blinding 
her e^’es, away. 

Yes,” she exclaimed, that will do. Take it at 
once, this moment, before — before I have time to 
change my mind.” 

Mildred had written, Tell J udy to expect me at 
ten to-night.” Hilda added her name, and Mildred 
prepared to leave the room. 

Good-by, Hilda,” she said. I won’t come 
back, for you will need all your time to pack, and 
to leave things in order for your Jasper. Good-by, 
dear. Of course you could not thinh of changing 
your mind, it would be wicked, cruel; yes, it would 
be terribly cruel. Good-by, Hilda, good-by.” 

Mildred seated herself in the victoria and desired 
her coachman to drive to the nearest telegraph office. 

I have made a discovery,” she said, under her 
breath. ‘^Jasper Quentyns was not the prince; no, 
my prince has not yet shown his shining face above 
the horizon. Doubtless he will never come; but bet- 
ter that than to think he has arrived and woke to find 
him common clay. Hilda is absolutely afraid of her 
husband. No, Hilda, I would not be in your shoes 
for a good deal.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


89 


CHAPTER X. 

WAITING. 

The days are clear. 

Day after day. 

When April’s here. 

That leads to May, 

And June 
Must follow soon. 

Stay, June, stay! 

If only we could stop the moon 
And June! 

It was an April day, but the weather was still cold 
at Little Staunton, and Aunt Marjorie thought it 
well to have a nice bright fire burning in Judy’s bed- 
room. 

Judy was sitting up in bed, her hair was combed 
back from her face, she wore a pink dressing-gown, 
the black shadows under her eyes were not so 
marked as yesterday, her firm little lips had an ex- 
pression of extreme and touching patience. Judy’s 
movements were somewhat languid, and her voice 
when she spoke had lost its high, glad pitch. 

Aunt Marjorie kept coming in and out of the 
room. Miss Mills fussed with the fire, went to the 
window to look out over the landscape and to make 
the same remark many times. 

‘^How late the spring is this year,” said the' gov- 
erness, in her dreary monotone. 

Babs stood with her back to Judy, sorting a cabi- 
net full of curiosities. There was no shadow of any 


90 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


sorrow on Babs’ serene face — ^her full contented voice 
prattled on interminably. 

A drawing-board lay on Judy’s bed, a sheet of 
drawing-paper, two or three pencils, and a thick piece 
of india-rubber lay by her side. For over an hour she 
had been drawing industriously. A pink color came 
into her cheeks as she worked, and Aunt Marjorie 
said to herself : 

^'The child is all right — she just needed a little 
rest — she’ll soon be as well as possible. I’ll go down- 
stairs now, and write to Hilda about her.” ’ 

Miss Mills also thought that Judy looked better. 
Miss Mills was still guilty of keeping up a some- 
what one-sided correspondence with the person whom 
she so cordially hated — she had not heard from him 
for nearly a month, and thought that the present 
would be a good opportunity to write another letter, 
to remind him of her existence. So, glancing at Judy 
as she went, she also left the room. 

The door was shut carefully, and the two little 
sisters were alone. When this happened Judy threw 
down her pencils and gave utterance to a faint, 
quickly smothered sigh. 

‘^Why do you do it so softly?” said Babs, not 
troubling herself to turn her face, but still keeping 
her stout back to her sister. 

Do what so softly? ” asked Judy. 

"Those groans to herself. Aunt Marjorie won’t 
believe that you ever groan, and I Icnow you do. 
She said you was as happy as the day is long, and 
I said you wasnH, You know you do sob at night, 
or you have shecups or something.” 

"Look here,” said Judy, "it’s very, very, very 
unkind of you, Babs, to tell Aunt Marjorie what I 
do at night. I didn’t think you’d be so awfully 
mean. I am ill now, and Aiint Maggie would do 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


91 


anything for me, and I’ll ask her to put you to sleep 
in Miss Mills’ room if ever you tell what I do at 
night again.” 

I’ll never tell if you don’t wish me to,” said 
Babs, in her easy tones. You may sob so that you 
may be heard down in the drawing-room and I won’t 
tell. Look here, Judy, I have found your old 
knife.” 

^^What old knife?” 

The one you saved that animal with last autumn, 
don’t you remember ? ” 

Oh, yes, yes — the dear little earwig. Do let me 
see the knife, Babs ; I thought I had lost it.” 

“ No, it was in the back of your cabinet, just under 
all the peacock’s feathers. Wasn’t the earwig glad 
when you saved her ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said J udy, smiling, didn’t she run home 
fast to her family? She was sticking in the wood 
and couldn’t get out, poor darling, but my dear 
little knife cut the wood away and then she ran 
home. Oh, didn’t she go fast ! ” 

‘‘ Yes, didn’t she,” said Babs, laughing. I think 
earwigs are such sweet Little animals, don’t you, 
Judy?” 

Insects, you mean,” said J udy. Oh, yes, I 

love them special because most people hate the poor 
dears.” 

‘^What are you drawing, Judy? What a queer, 
queer picture ! ” 

‘^I’m going to call it ^ Where the nasty fairies 
live,’ ” said Judy, but I haven’t finished it. Babs, 
how long is it since Hilda went away ? ” 

Weeks, and weeks, and weeks,” replied Babs. “ I 
has almost forgotten how long.” 

‘'Years and years, you mean,” said Judy. 

The little pink flush of excitement faded out of 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


her cheeks, her eyes looked hollow, the shadow under 
them grew darker than ever. 

There came a rush along the passage, and Aunt 
Marjorie, puffing with the haste she had used, but 
trying to walk slowly and to speak calmly, entered 
the room. 

Judy, my darling,” she said, have very good 
news for you.” 

For me,” said Judy, flushing and paling almost 
in the same moment. 

"Yes, my dear little pet, very nice news. Your 
darling Hilda is coming.” 

" Aunt Maggie ! ” 

" Yes, here’s a telegram from her. She says in it, 
^ Tell Judy to expect me at ten to~night.^ Why, my 
darling, how white you are! Babs, run and fetch 
me those smelling-salts. Now, Judy, just one whiff. 
Ah, now you’re better.” 

" Yes, auntie, much, much, much better. I am only 
awfully happy.” 

Judy smiled, and the tears rushed to her eyes; 
her little thin hand trembled, she tried to push her 
drawing materials away. 

Please may I have the telegram ? ” she asked. 

" Of course you may, my darling. Oh, and here 
comes kind Miss Mills with your chicken broth. 
Just the thing to set you up. Drink it off, dear. 
Miss Mills, our sweet Hilda is coming to-night. I 
have just had a telegram, she’ll be here at ten.” 

" Who’s to meet her ? ” asked Miss Mills. " You 
forget that there are no horses in the stables now, 
and no carriage in the coach-house.” 

"I did forget,” said Aunt Marjorie. "I must 
send a message to Stephens to take a fly to the sta- 
tion.” 

I’ll go and tell him as soon as ever tea is over,’^ 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


93 

answered Miss Mills. Judy. You^ll soon be 

well now, J udy, won’t you ? ” 

am well already,” said Judy. What de- 
licious chicken broth. Auntie dear, stoop down, I 
want to whisper something to you.” 

Yes, my dearie, what is it ? ” 
needn’t be asleep when Hilda comes, need I? 
You will let me sit up in bed, won’t you? I’ll 
promise to be so quiet ; I won’t make a sound to dis- 
turb Babs, but I should love to be awake and wait- 
ing for darling Hilda. Please, please, auntie, say I 
may.” 

'^My darling — until ten o’clock! so awfully late. 
Judy dear, you’re getting quite feverish — ^you must 
calm yourself, my pet. Well, then — well, anything 
to soothe you. We’ll see how you keep, dearie. If 
you don’t get at all excited, I — I’ll see what I shall 
do. How I must leave you, darling, to go and 
get Hilda’s room ready. I wonder if Jasper is com- 
ing with her — she doesn’t say anything about him.” 

Aunt Marjorie trotted out of the room. Miss Mills 
started on her walk to the village, and J udy began to 
speak eagerly to Babs. 

I am quite well,” she said ; you’ll never hear 
me sob again at night. I am quite the happiest girl 
in the world. Oh, think of kissing Hilda again; and 
I didn’t fret, no, I didn’t — not really. Babs, don’t 
you think you might make the room look pretty? 
You might get out all the animals and put them on 
the chimney-piece.” 

^^I’ll be very glad to do that,” replied Babs. 
often wanted to look at the darlings, but it was 
no fun when you didn’t wish to play with them.” 
She opened a little box as she spoke, and taking 
out china dogs, cats, cocks and hens, ducks, gir- 
affes, elephants, monkeys, and many other varieties 


94 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


of the animal world, bestowed them with what taste 
she could manage on the mantelpiece. Don’t they 
look sweet ! ” she exclaimed. I suppose you’re not 
strong enough to have a game, Judy? If you could 
bray like the donkey, I’d be the roaring bull.” 

To-morrow, perhaps, I can,” said J udy, in a 
weak voice; ^^but the room is not half ready yet. 
I want you to pin some of my drawings and some 
of my texes on the wall. You’ll find them in my 
own box if you open it.” 

^^Yes, yes,” said Babs in delight. I do like 
making the room pretty for Hilda, and you order- 
ing me. You may pretend if you like that I am 
your little servant.” 

^^Very well; you’re putting that picture upside 
down, Babs.” 

Oh, how funny ! Is that right ? ” 

Ho ; it’s awfully crooked.” 

For the next half-hour Babs labored hard, and Judy 
superintended, giving sharp criticisms and order- 
ing the arrangements of the chamber with much per- 
emptoriness. 

Now we must have flowers,” she exclaimed. 
^^You must go out to the garden, and pick all the 
violets you can get.” 

‘^But it’s very late to go out,” said Babs, ^^and 
Miss Mills will be angry.” 

‘^As if that mattered! Who cares who is angry 
when Hilda is coming? The worst Miss Mills can 
do is to punish you, and you won’t mind that when 
you think about Hilda. I know where there are 
violets, white and blue, on that south bank after 
you pass the shrubbery; you know the bank where 
the bees burrow, and where we catch ladybirds in 
the summer; run, Babs, do run at once and pick all 
you can find,” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


95 


Judy’s room was decorated to perfection. Judy 
herself lay in her white bed, with pink roses on her 
cheeks, and eyes like two faintly-shining stars, and 
smiles coming and going on her lips, and eager 
words dropping now and then from her impatient 
little tongue. 

What is the hour now. Aunt Marjorie ? Is it 
really only half-past nine ? ” 

‘‘It is twenty-five to ten, Judy, and Miss Mills 
has gone in the fly to the station, and your Hilda 
will be back, if the train is punctual, by ten o’clock. 
How wonderfully well you look, my darling. I did 
right after all to let you sit up in bed to wait for 
your dear sister.” 

“ Yes, I am quite well, only — I hope Jasper won’t 
come, too.” 

“ Oh, fie ! my pet. You know you ought not to 
say that treasonable sort of thing — Jasper is Jasper, 
one of the family, and we must welcome him as such 
— but between ourselves, just for no one else to hear 
in all the wide world, I do hope also that our 
dear little Hilda will come here by herself.” 

Judy threw her thin arms round Aunt Marjorie’s 
neck and gave her a silent hug. 

“ I’ll never breathe what you said,” she whispered 
back in her emphatic voice. 

Babs slept peacefully in her cot at the other end 
of the room. The white and blue violets lay in a 
tiny bowl on the little table by Judy’s bed. The 
rumble of wheels was heard in the avenue. Aunt 
Marjorie started to her feet, and the color flew from 
Judy’s face. 

“It cannot be Hilda yet,” exclaimed the aunt. 
“ No, of course, it is the doctor. He will say that 
you are better to-night, J udy.” 

The medical man entered the room, felt the pulse 


96 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


of his little patient, looked into her eyes, and gave 
utterance to a few cheerful words. 

The child is much better, isn’t she ? ” asked Aunt 
Marjorie, following him out of the room. 

Hum ! I am not so sure ; her pulse is weak and 
quick, and for some reason she is extremely excited. 
What is she sitting up in bed for ? she ought to have 
been in the land of dreams a long time ago.” 

Don’t you know, Dr. Harvey ; didn’t we tell you, 
my niece, Mrs. Quentyns, is expected to-night ? And 
Judy is sitting up to see her.” 

Suspense is very bad for my little patient. What 
time is Mrs. Quentyns expected to arrive ? ” 

About ten. Judy is esnecially attached to her sis- 
ter, and if I had insisted on her trying to go to sleep 
she would have tossed about and worked herself into 
a fever.” 

She is very nearly in one now, and I don’t par- 
ticularly like the look of excitement in her eyes. I 
hope Mrs. Quent3ms will be punctual. As soon as 
ever she comes the child must settle to sleep. Give 
her a dose of that bromide mixture immediately after. 
I’ll come and see her the first thing in the morning.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


97 


CHAPTER XL 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

But she is far away 

Now; nor the hours of night grown hoar. 

Bring, yet to me, long gazing, from the door, 

The wind-stirred robe of roseate gray. 

And rose-cream of the hour that leads the day, 

When we shall meet once more. 

— D. G. Rossetti. 

Hilda Quentyns, Judy’s idol, was not the strong- 
est of characters. She was very sweet and amiable, 
intensely true and affectionate to those to whom she 
gave her heart, but she was somewhat timorous and 
somewhat easily led. 

Long ago, when Babs was a baby, Hilda’s mother 
had died. Since then J udy had been her special care. 

Now with trembling hands she packed her port- 
manteau, gave the young cook and parlor-maid di- 
rections what to do in her absence, and then, sitting 
down before her davenport, prepared to write an ex- 
planatory letter to her husband. 

She thought it quite probable that Jasper would 
be angry with her for rushing off like this, but for 
once she intended to brave his displeasure. 

In her heart of hearts she knew exactly the state 
Judy was in. The ardent soul was wearing out the 
delicate little frame. That suffering which Judy 
would not speak of, which she was too brave to 
show sign or whisper of, was making her body ill. 


A YOlJKa mijtineee. 


§s 

If Hilda went to her darling the suffering would 
cease. Love would shine all round Judy’s starved 
heart, and she would soon be well and strong again. 

Yes, it is my manifest duty to go to her,” whis- 
pered the wife to herself. I will go to Little Staun- 
ton and nurse her for a few days, and when she is 
better she must come to London and live with me. 
Jasper won’t like it — I know he won’t like it, hut he 
has really nothing to complain of, for I told him 
from the very first what Judy was to me. Yes, I 
must go, but I wish — I do wish that the train for 
Little Staunton left Waterloo at six instead of seven. 
I should be well on my journey before Jasper came 
back. Oh, J asper, my darling, why do I say words of 
this sort, as if I were — as if I could be — afraid of 
you ! ” 

Hilda dipped her pen into the ink and wrote the 
first words of her letter. 

My Dearest Husband : When you read this 
you will he surprised — 


A rather crooked dash of her pen finished this 
sentence — she was startled by a quick double knock 
at the front door. A moment later Susan, the neat 
maid-servant, brought in a telegram on a salver. 

The boy is waiting to know if there is any an- 
swer,” she said. 

Hilda tore open the yellow envelope; her eyes 
rested on the following words : 

Rivers will dine with us. Have everything nice, 
and expect me home at 6 :30. Jasper.” 


Mrs. Quentyns’ first sensation was one of relief. 
‘^It is all right,” she exclaimed, looking up at 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


99 


the servant, who was startled at her mistress’ pale 
cheeks. I thought my little sister, Miss Judy, was 
worse, but the telegram is from your master, Susan. 
Tell the boy there is no answer, and send cook to me 
without a moment’s delay.” Susan left the room, and 
Hilda slipped the telegram into her pocket. She still 
felt only a sense of relief, and the first faint qualms 
as to what Jasper would think of her sudden de- 
parture had not begun to visit her. A knock was 
heard at the drawing-room door. 

Come in, come in,” said the young mistress. 

Oh, cook,” exclaimed Hilda, I have just had a 
telegram from your master. He is bringing a gen- 
tleman home to dine. A rather particular gentle- 
man, and we want a specially nice dinner. I — I for- 
get what I ordered this morning.” 

The fat cook bestowed a pitying glance upon Hilda. 

The boiled chicken was to be fricasseed, mum,” 
she said, ^^and you ordered me to open one of the 
tins of oxtail soup; there were to be apple fritters 
afterward, and a cheese savory — that is all.” 

Yes, yes,” said Hilda, putting her hand to her 
head, that dinner would have done very well for 
Mr. Quentyns and me, but we must make some al- 
terations now. You had better run round to the fish- 
monger’s, cook, and go to the butcher’s, and or- 
der -” 

Hilda rushed to her davenport, scribbled some 
hasty directions on a piece of paper, and handed them 
to the servant. 

You must go this moment,” she said, it is six 
o’clock now; and please call at the greengrocer’s on 
your way back, and get a pound of bananas and some 
Tangerine oranges. I will see that the wine is all 
right; and speak to Susan about the table while you 
are out. Run, cook, run, at once — ^things must look 


100 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


their very best, and be served in the best possible man- 
ner for dinner to-night.” 

The cook muttered something unintelligible, and by 
no means too well pleased with her errand, departed. 

Hilda called Susan, and going into the dining- 
room helped her to decorate the table; then after 
impressing upon the neat little parlor-maid the ne- 
cessity of doing what she could to help cook in this 
sudden emergency, she ran upstairs to put on her 
bonnet and jacket, for the time had almost arrived 
when she must start on her journey. She had just 
come downstairs when the click of the latchkey was 
heard, and Jasper, in excellent spirits, entered the 
house. 

Well, my love,” he said, going up to his wife 
and kissing her ; oh, you have been out ! — did you 
get my telegram? I told Rivers we should not dine 
until half-past seven, in order to give you plenty of 
time to prepare. Perhaps you have been ordering 
some things for dinner, Hilda ; that is right, and just 
what I should have expected of you. I am particu- 
larly anxious that Rivers should see that I have got 
the sweetest, prettiest, and best little wife and house- 
keeper in the world.” 

For some reason which she could not explain, even 
to herself, Hilda felt her tongue tied. She returned 
her husband’s kiss, and when he entered the tiny din- 
ing-room she followed him. 

“ Very nice, very nice,” he exclaimed, looking with 
approval at the dinner-table, which was charmingly 
decorated with pink liberty silk and white flowers. 

But what is this?” he added suddenly, there are 
only two places laid. One for you and one for me. 
We must ring for Susan at once — I think Rivers 
would rather sit at the side, away from the fire.” 

‘‘ I — Jasper, I want to tell you something.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


101 


What is it ? — how pale you are, darling ! ” 
want to tell you something,” repeated Hilda; 

I — I am not going to dine with you to-night.” 

What do you mean, my dear girl — are you ill ? 
What can he the matter ? ” 

I am not ill, but J udy is — am going down to 
Little Staunton. I have telegraphed to them to ex- 
pect me by the train due at 9 :40, and it is time for me 
to go. Is that you, Susan? Please would you order 
a hansom at once ? ” 

Susan instantly left the room, closing the door 
behind her. 

For nearly half a minute Quentyns was silent, a 
great wave of color had rushed over his face, and it 
was with difficulty he could keep back some annoyed 
and some sarcastic words. He was a man who prided 
himself on having great self-control, and before he 
uttered his first sentence he felt that he had recovered 
it. 

You’re trembling, dear,” he said gently, ^^and 
you — ^you absolutely look as if you were afraid of me. 
Come into the drawing-room, love, and tell me what 
is wrong with Judy. My hHe noire, Judy! what has 
been her last transgression ? ” 

‘^Jasper, don’t, don’t,” said Hilda, in a voice of 
pain. Judy is really ill this time — she fainted in 
church on Sunday ; she is in bed now, and the doctor 
says she is very weak.” 

I suppose so, or she would not have fainted. I 
used constantly to faint when I was a child — the 
slightest thing sent me off. I was not kept in bed 
afterward, for children were not cockered up and 
fussed over when I was young. My faint was gener- 
allly traced to overeating. If you must go down to 
see Judy, I don’t wish to prevent you, Hilda, but why 
go to-night ? ” 


102 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Oh, Jasper, I must — I must run away this in- 
stant too, for I hear the cab — I telegraphed to say I 
would go/’ 

J asper put on a new stubborn look which Hilda had 
never seen before. 

don’t wish to coerce you,” he said in a cold 
voice; you’re perfectly free to act as you think 
right in the matter. I can go down with you by an 
early train in the morning, or you can go by your- 
self now, and put me to extreme inconvenience. 
You’re at liberty to choose.” 

Don’t speak like that, J asper, you pain me.” 

I fail to see how I am paining you, I am giving 
you a free choice. You can be with Judy before 
noon to-morrow, or you can go immediately.” 

I sent a telegram to her to expect me ; it is so 
bad for sick children to be kept waiting.” 

So it seems. Yes, Susan, tell the cab to wait.” 

Susan left the room, and heavy tears gathered in 
Hilda’s eyes. 

Can I send another telegram ? ” she asked weakly. 

I don’t believe you can, the telegraph office will 
be closed at Little Staunton. Never mind, Hilda, 
you had better go; I am disappointed, annoyed, of 
course, but what of that? What is a husband to a 
sick sister? Go, my dear, or you will miss your 
train ! ” 

No, I won’t go,” said Hilda ; " you have made 
it impossible for me to go. I’ll stay and entertain 
your guest, and Judy will suffer. Yes; don’t kiss me 
just now, Jasper; I think you are cruel, but I’ll 
stay.” 

Hilda went over to the bell and rang it. 

Susan answered the summons. 

Give the cabman this shilling,” said Mrs. 
(Juentyns, and tell him that he is not required.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


103 


You have done quite right, my love,” said 
Quentyns, ^‘and when you have got over your first 
little feeling of annoyance you will see the matter in 
the same light that I do. 1^11 telegraph to Little 
Staunton early in the morning to tell them to expect 
us by the 11:35 train. Of course Judy would have 
been asleep hours before you reached her to-night, 
so it does not really matter in the least. Now come 
upstairs and put on your very prettiest dress, that 
soft pink chiffon, in which you look as like a rosebud 
as a living woman can. I have capital news for you, 
Hilda, my love; Rivers certainly is a brick; he has 
got me to act as counsel in 

Quentyns talked on in his satisfied, joyous tones. 
He had won the victory, and could afford to be very 
gracious and generous. Hilda felt as if a band of 
iron had closed round her heart. She was too gentle 
and sweet in her nature to be long angry with her 
husband. Her face was a little paler than usual, 
however, and her eyes had a weary look in them. 

Rivers, who was a very keen observer of human 
nature, noticed the silent depression which hung over 
her, but Hilda’s husband failed to observe it. 

I can easily manage her,” he muttered to himself ; 
it would have been beyond all reason to have had 
her absent from our first little dinner just because a 
child had fainted. Pshaw ! — I can see that Hilda is 
going to be painfully fanciful ; it all comes from hav- 
ing lived so long in the wilds of the country. Well, 
I’ll take her down to Little Staunton to-morrow, and 
be specially good to her, but she must get over these 
absurdities about Judy, or life will not be worth liv- 
ing.” 

The dinner was a success, and Hilda looked lovely. 
A certain dreamy and far-away expression in her 
eyes added the fiual toucli to l^er beautjr. WbeQ the 


104 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


men sat together over their wine, Rivers spoke of her 
in tones of rapture. 

‘‘You^re the luckiest fellow in Christendom, Jas- 
per,” he said; and Jasper Quentyns, who looked up 
to Tom Rivers as the first of men, felt almost unduly 
elated. 

The lines had fallen unto him in pleasant places,” 
so he muttered, and he forgot all about a sick and 
troublesome child, who at this very instant was count- 
ing the moments as they flew by, in her tired and 
weary eagerness to clasp her arms round Hilda’s neck. 
Hilda, too, in the drawing-room, was shedding silent 
tears, but what did that matter? — for Jasper knew 
nothing about them. 

Jasper and Hilda were both musical, and Tom 
Rivers liked nothing better than to listen to their 
voices as they sang duet after duet together. The 
songs they sung were full of noble sentiment. Their 
voices mingled until they almost sounded like one rich 
and perfect note, as they sang of love which is undy- 
ing and self-sacrifice which is ennobling. Quentyns 
felt a glow of elation filling his breast as his eyes 
rested on his lovely wife, and the tormentings of 
Hilda’s conscience were soothed, and she too partly 
forgot Judy. 

Breakfast was served at an early hour next morn- 
ing at Philippa Terrace, and Quentyns and his wife 
started for Little Staunton in time to catch the early 
train. 

They arrived at the small wayside station not more 
than twenty minutes beyond the appointed time, and 
were met by Miss Mills, who was driving the village 
pony cart herself. 

The governess addressed Hilda in a calm voice, but 
her inward excitement was very manifest. Jasper 
bad talked cheerfulljr all the way dowi^ to little 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


105 


Staunton, but Hilda had been almost silent. She 
felt oppressed — she dreaded she knew not what. Now 
when she looked into Miss Mills’ face she felt her own 
turn pale. 

“ No, don’t speak,” she said, in a hoarse whisper. 

I know you have bad news, but don’t tell me now, 
not until we get home.” 

Get in,” said Miss Mills, I won’t be long driv- 
ing you to the rectory. It is rather important for you 
to be there, and as the trap only holds two perhaps 
Mr. Quentyns won’t mind walking.” 

‘^Not at all,” said Jasper, in his pleasant, calm 
voice. Can you make room for our portmanteau 
at your feet. Miss Mills ? — ah, yes, that will do nicely. 
By the way, how are you all? Has Judy quite re- 
covered from her faint ? ” 

When Quentyns asked this question Miss Mills bent 
suddenly forward under the pretense of trying to 
arrange the portmanteau. 

^‘We won’t be any time getting to the rectory,” 
she said, turning to Hilda. She touched the pony 
with her whip as she spoke and they started forward. 

It was such a pity you didn’t come last night,” 
said the governess, as they entered the rectory gates. 

‘^I — I could not help it,” murmured poor Hilda. 
With one hand she was tightly grasping the edge of 
the little basket carriage. 

Stop, there is father,” she exclaimed suddenly. 
^^Let me go to him. I — I can bear him to tell me 
if there is anything wrong.” 

In an instant she reached the rector’s side. Her 
arms were round his neck, her head on his shoulder, 
and she was sobbing her heart out on his breast. 

My dearest Hilda, my darling ! ” exclaimed her 
father. What is the meaning of all this ? Why are 
you so dreadfully unhappy, my child ? ” 


106 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


" Tell me, father, I can bear it from you, is she — 
is she dead ? ’’ 

Is who dead ? ” 

Ju — Judy.’’ 

^^No; what has put that into your head? But 
your little sister is very ill, Hilda. I am not so 
much alarmed about her as your Aunt Marjorie is, 
but I confess her state puzzles me. I saw Dr. Har- 
vey to-day, and I don’t think he is satisfied either. 
It seems that for some reason the child was over- 
excited last night — there was difficulty in getting 
her off to sleep, and she cried in a very distressing and 
painful way. I was obliged to sit with her myself. I 
held her hand, poor little darling, and had a prayer 
with her, and — ^toward morning she dropped off into 
a sleep.” 

And,” continued Hilda, she was better when 
she awoke, wasn’t she? Do say she was, father. You 
showed her Jasper’s telegram the very instant she 
awoke, and of course she got much better immedi- 
ately.” 

My dear Hilda, the strange thing about J udy has 
yet to be told; she has not awakened — she is still 
asleep, and this prolonged and unnatural sleep dis- 
turbs Dr. Harvey a good deal.” 

I had better go to her at once, father. I think 
the doctor must be mistaken in thinking sleep bad. 
When Judy sees me sitting by her bedside she will 
soon cheer up and get like her old self. I’ll run to 
her now, father; I don’t feel half so much alarmed 
since you tell me that she is only asleep.” 

The rector gave vent to a troubled sigh ; Hilda put 
wings to her feet, and with the lightness and grace of 
a bird sped toward the house. 

Hilda, Hilda,” called her husband. He had 
taken a short cut across some fields, and was Ro^ 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


101 

entering the rectory domain. He thought it would 
be quite the correct thing for his wife to wait for 
him. Surely she would like to enter her family circle 
with him by her side. Hilda, please stop ! he cried 
out, and he hurried his own footsteps. 

But if Hilda heard she did not heed. She rushed 
on, and soon disappeared from view inside the deep 
portico of the old house. 

Two or three moments later she was sitting with- 
out her hat and jacket, and with a pair of noiseless 
house-slippers on her feet, by Judy’s bedside. 

All the preparations which had been made with 
such care and pains by Babs the night before were 
still making the nursery look pretty. The little 
china animals sat in many funny groups on the 
mantelpiece. The white and blue violets lay in a 
large bowl on a table by Judy’s side. One of the 
little sleeper’s hands was thrown outside the coun- 
terpane. Hilda touched it, and found that it burned 
with a queer, uncomfortable dry heat. 

But how quietly she is sleeping,” said Mrs. 
Quentyns, looking up with tears in her eyes at Aunt 
Marjorie; why are you so solemn and sad? — surely 
this sleep must be good for her.” 

My dear. Dr. Harvey calls Judy’s state more 
stupor than sleep. He says the most extraordinary 
things about the child : that she has been over- 
excited and subjected to a severe mental strain, 
and he fears mischief to the brain. But surely he 
must be wrong, for nothing could exceed the quiet 
of our life at the rectory since the money has gone 
and you have left us, and no one could have been 
less excited in her ways than Judy has been since 
your marriage. I can’t make out what Dr. Harvey 
means.” 

think I partly understand,” said Hilda; her 


108 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


voice had a choking sound. Don’t talk so loud, 
Aunt Marjorie,” she said impatiently; ^‘you will 
wake her — you will disturb her.” 

“ But that is what we wish,” interrupted the old 
lady. The doctor says we must do everything in 
our power to rouse her. Ah, and here he comes; 
he will speak for himself.” 

I am glad to see you, Mrs. Quentyns,” said Dr. 
Harvey. ‘‘Your not coming last night when the 
child expected you was a grave mistake, but better 
late than never.” 

He stopped speaking then, and bent over the little 
sleeper. 

“ Draw up the blind,” he said to Aunt Marjorie, 
“let us have all the light we can. Now don’t be 
frightened, Mrs. Quentyns — I am not going to hurt 
the child, but I must examine her eyes.” 

Hilda felt as if she could scarcely restrain a stifled 
scream as the doctor lifted first one lid and then the 
other, and looked into the dark depths of the sweet 
eyes. 

“ The child got a shock,” he said then. “ I 
feared it when I called early this morning. I don’t 
say for a moment that she will not get better, but 
her state is very precarious. I should like you to 
nurse her altogether, Mrs. Quentyns; much depends 
on her seeing you by her side when she wakes.” 

“I shall never leave her again,” said Hilda, in a 
stifled tone. 

The doctor’s practiced ear caught the suppressed 
hysteria in her voice. 

“ Come, come,” he said cheerily, “ you have noth- 
ing to blame yourself for. The little one has evi- 
dently felt your absence in a remarkable manner.” 

“ Really, doctor, you are quite mistaken,” began 
Aunt Marjorie. “ What I principally noticed about 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


109 


Judy was her great quietness and docility since Hilda 
left. She scarcely spoke of her sister, and seemed 
content to sit by my side and read fairy stories. She 
used to be such a very excitable, troublesome sort 
of child. If you ask me frankly, I think Hilda’s ab- 
sence did her good.” 

The doctor looked from the old lady to the young. 

I must adhere to my first opinion,” he said. 

The child has missed her sister. Now that you 
have come, Mrs. Quentyns, we will hope for the 
best.” 

He went out of the room as he spoke, and Aunt 
Marjorie followed him. 

Hilda dropped on her knees by Judy’s cot. 

Oh, my God, forgive me,” she cried, in a broken, 
anguished prayer. I did wrong to leave my little 
Judy. Oh, God, only spare her life, and I will vow 
to you that whatever happens she shall never leave 
me in the time to come. Whatever happens,” re- 
peated Hilda, in a choking voice of great agony. 
Then she rose and took her place beside the child’s 
bed. 

A couple of hours passed by. The door was softly 
opened, and Quentyns stole into the room. He had 
been very much shocked by the doctor’s account of 
the child, and his face and tone expressed real sympa- 
thy as he came up to Hilda. 

‘‘Poor little Judy,” he said, bending over her. 
“ What a queer, excitable little mite it is.” 

Hilda beat her foot impatiently. 

“ Well, my darling,” continued Quentyns, not no- 
ticing his wife’s suppressed agitation, “ she wdll soon 
be all right now you have come. Lunch is ready, 
Hilda, and you must be weak for want of food. Come, 
dearest, let me take you down to the dining- 
room.” 


110 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


‘^Oh, no, Jasper, I can’t leave Judy; and please, 
please don’t talk so loud.” 

The doctor does not wish her to be kept too 
quiet, Hilda; and surely, my dear, you are not going 
to starve yourself ! ” 

'^Aunt Marjorie will send me something to the 
dressing-room ; I can’t be away from Judy even for 
one minute. There is no saying when she will awake, 
and I must be with her when she does.” 

Quentyns smothered an impatient exclamation. 

After a pause he said gently: 

^'As you please, dear; I will bring something up 
myself to the dressing-room for you,” and he stole on 
tiptoe out of the room. 

Nothing could be more patient than his manner, 
and Hilda reproached herself for the feeling of irri- 
tation which his presence gave her. 

There came a sigh from the bed — the faintest of 
sounds; Mrs. Quentyns turned her head quickly, 
and saw, to her rapture, that Judy’s big green-gray 
eyes were wide open and fixed earnestly on her face. 
There was no surprise in the pretty eyes, nor any ad- 
ditional color in the pale little face. 

Hilda,” said Judy, I thought it was only a 
bad dream — you never went away, did you ? ” 

I am never going to leave you again, J udy,” 
replied her sister ; never, never, as long as we both 
live. I vow — I promise — nothing shall part us, noth- 
ing except death.” 

Hilda flung herself on her knees by the child’s bed 
and burst into hysterical sobs. 


A YoUNg MUTINEEB. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XII. 

Hilda’s engagement king. 

My heart is heavy for scorn, 

Mine eyes with impatient tears, 

But the heaven looks blue through the cherry-blooms. 
And preaches away my fears, 

— Emily Pfeiffeb. 

Contrary to the doctor’s fears, and in accordance 
with Hilda’s hopes, Judy grew better. A weight had 
been lifted from her heart — ^her starved affections 
were nourished and soothed once more. Hilda 
scarcely ever left her room, and Hilda’s presence was 
perpetual sunshine to the child. 

Ho one could possibly have behaved better than 
Quentyns did during this trying time. A certain 
feeling of compunction had visited him when he 
discovered how real Judy’s illness was. He was as- 
sailed by a momentary pricking of his conscience, but 
as the little girl quickly grew better, and was soon 
pronounced by the doctor to be quite out of danger, 
it was but natural that an active man of the world 
like Quentyns should wish to return to town, should 
find the quiet rectory simply unendurable, and also 
that he should wish to take his young wife with him. 

The Quentyns arrived at Staunton rectory on a 
certain Wednesday, and on the following Sunday 
evening Quentyns thought the time had arrived for 
him to speak to Hilda about their return to town. 

Be had not seen much of her during the days which 


11 ^ 


A Young mutineer. 


had intervened, and he was obliged now to send Babs 
with a message to J udy’s room to ask his wife to come 
to him. 

Hilda was reading aloud to Judy when Babs en- 
tered the room, and said in her important,^ calm way : 

Jasper wants you, Hilda, and you are to go to him 
this minute.^^ 

Hilda could read beautifully, and Judy had lain 
in a dream of rapture, listening to the beloved voice 
as it told the old story of Christian and his pilgrim- 
age. Now the wistful, distressed look crept back into 
her face. 

Never mind, dear,’^ said Hilda, bending forward 
and kissing the child. I shall not be long away.” 

Quentyns was waiting for his wife in the large con- 
servatory which opened into the drawing-room. It 
was nearly empty of flowers and plants now, but was 
still a pleasant place to lounge about in. 

Well, my love,” he said in his pleasant tone. 
‘^Why, how pale you look, Hilda. I am not going 
to scold you, darling — oh, no, not for the world; 
but I haven’t got too much of your society during 
these last few days. I don’t blame you, and I am 
not jealous; but if you could spare me half an hour 
now, there are one or two things I want to talk over 
with you.” 

Of course I can spare you half an hour, Jasper, 
or an hour for that matter, if you want it,” replied 
Hilda cheerfully. Judy is much, much better to- 
night, and I am feeling quite happy about her.” 

Hilda slipped her hand through her husband’s 
arm as she spoke; he gave the little hand an affec- 
tionate squeeze and drew his wife close to his side. 

am glad Judy is better,” he said. ""What I 
have to propose will be quite convenient, then, Hilda. 
I want to go back to town by the first train in the 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


113 


morning. I have heard from Rivers, and — What is 
it, my love ? Y^ou really do look very pale. You are 
overdoing yourself, and I cannot allow it. Now that 
J udy is better you must rest. I shall get Dr. Pettifer 
to look you up and give you a tonic when we get back 
to town."” 

Stop, J asper,” said Hilda suddenly. “ I am not 
tired nor worn out in any way. I look pale now be- 
cause my heart beats — because — Jasper, I cannot go 
to town with you to-morrow. I know you must 
go; of course, I quite understand that; but I am 
not going — not until Judy is well enough to be 
moved.^^ 

Quentyns did not reply for several seconds, then 
he said in a gentle tone, which did not betray an atom 
of his true feeling : 

I half-expected you to say something of this sort, 
Hilda; I cannot pretend that I am not sorry. The 
fine weather is coming on; the London season will 
soon be at its height. I do not mean for a moment 
to imply that we can avail ourselves of what is termed 
a season in town, but for a poor and struggling man 
it is essential that he should leave no stone unturned 
to introduce himself to those persons who can and 
will help him. The influential sort of people who can 
materially assist me in my career are now in London, 
Hilda. You, my darling, are an excuse for many val- 
uable introductions. You see, therefore, that not 
alone from an affectionate point of view you ought 
now to be with me. But,’^ continued Jasper, looking 
straight ahead of him, and fixing his fine, intelligent 
eyes on the distant landscape, I waive all that. I 
understand that you do not wish to leave Judy until 
she is fit to be moved to the seaside. If she maintains 
the progress she is now making. Dr. Harvey will prob- 
ably allow Aunt Marjorie to take her away at the 


A YOtTNG MtTTINEEH. 


lU 

end of the week. I shall have you home on Satur- 
day at the latest, Hilda.’^ 

‘^Yes,’’ said Hilda. hope so, but — ^but, Jas- 
per, you still fail to understand me. When Judy goes 
away she is not going to the seaside — she is coming 
with me to London — to Philippa Terrace. It is a 
promise, and I — I won’t — I can’t go back from it. I 
stand or fall by my promise, Jasper — I wish to say 
so now once for all.” 

You stand or fall by your promise ! ” repeated 
Quentyns. ^^What an extraordinary remark! One 
would suppose, my darling, that I was an ogre or the 
worst sort of tyrant. I always told you that Judy 
should come to stay with us for a few weeks when we 
had a room to receive her in. If matters progress as 
satisfactorily as I hope we shall have a snug, prettily 
furnished little spare room by the end of the present 
season. I promise you, Hilda, that Judy shall be its 
first tenant.” 

Hilda laid her hand with a sort of trembling, ner- 
vous impatience, on her husband’s arm. 

“ I have made a mistake — I have been a coward,” 
she said. ^^Even now, Jasper, you don’t a bit un- 
derstand me. Long ago, when mother died, she left 
Judy in my charge. I ought never to have mar- 
ried and left her. Judy is not an ordinary child, 
and she suffered. When I went away her heart was 
starved. She could not live with a starved heart. 
In my absence, my little Judy nearly died. She is 
better now — she is recovering because I am with her. 
I am never going to leave her again while she lives.” 

Hilda, what nonsense you talk,” said Quentyns, 
with temper in his tone. “ If Judy lives to grow up 
she will marry, like other girls — and will leave you of 
her own accord.” 

If she does,” replied Hilda, that alters the case, 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


115 


but until she leaves me by her own wish, or marries, 
she is in my charge. I will not be parted from her, 
Jasper. I shall not return to Philippa Terrace until 
I can bring her with me.’’ 

Is that really your final decision ? ” said Quen- 
tyns — he turned round now and looked at his wife; 
his face was very cold, its expression carefully veiled. 
He was intensely anxious not to show even a trace of 
ill-temper. His words were guarded. Is that your 
final decision, Hilda ? ” he said, and there was a fine 
withering sort of sarcasm in his voice. Do you 
mean seriously to desert the husband you married not 
three months ago for the sake of a child’s whim ? Is 
that the way 3^ou keep your marriage vow? ” 

^^No, no, Jasper; I want to be true to you both. 
I made two vows, and I want to keep them both. 
Help me, Jasper; I am not a bit a strong-minded 
girl, I am just very loving. My heart is full of love 
to you and to J ud3^ Help me to do this — ^lielp me to 
love you both, to serve you both. Go back to town 
to-morrow and furnish the spare room, and I will 
bring Judy back with me on Friday or Satur- 
day.” 

I said I should not run in debt. I have no more 
money to spend on furniture at present. You don’t 
really care for me, Hilda, or you would never speak 
as you do. But, once for all, I will not be drawn into 
a path which simply means ruin for the sake of any 
woman, and for the ridiculous fancies of any child. 
I will buy no furniture until I can pay for it. That 
ends the matter, my dear. If you are determined to 
stay at the rectory for the summer they will all, I 
am sure, be charmed to have you, and I will try and 
run down as often as I can. I need not say that I 
think you are making a most grave mistake, but a 
willfuf woman must e’en have her way, I suppose. 


116 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Ah, and here comes the rector; he has just returned 
from evening service.” 

Quentyns went toward the door of the conserva- 
tory, which he flung open. Mr. Merton was just en- 
tering his drawdng-room. 

One moment, Jasper — one moment,” said Hilda; 
she rushed after her husband; her face was like 
death, her eyes were blazing with passion. 

Your cruel words make an3dhing possible,” she 
said. I made two vow's before God, and I will keep 
them both. There, this was costly, I presume. You 
spent money on it — sell it again, and buy the furni- 
ture that you will not go in debt for.” 

. She thrust her engagement ring into Quentyns’ 
hand and rushed away. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Judy’s room. 

An ear that waits to catch 
A hand upon the latch. 

— Doha Greenwell. 

^^Here is a letter from Jasper, Hilda darling,” 
said Aunt Marjorie, coming into Judy’s bedroom 
two or three days after the events mentioned in the 
last chapter. I know the handwriting, dear. How 
strong and manly it looks ! I do love a manly hand, 
don’t you ? ” 

Hilda did not reply. She rose from her seat by 
Judy’s side, and taking her husband’s letter, walked 
to the window, and, standing with her back to the 
light, opened it eagerly. Her face was a little pal© 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


117 

and worn, and her eyes had tired lines under them. 
No one had noticed any change in her, however. 
Judy was fast recovering — each day her spirits rose, 
her appetite improved, her strength grew greater. 
She was to be taken into Hilda’s old boudoir to-day, 
and Babs was importantly moving the beloved china 
animals, arranging flowers, and getting the room 
ready for the great event. 

Aunt Marjorie, after her usual fashion, fussed over 
Judy while Hilda read her letter. It was brief, but 
somehow it gave the young wife unexpected hope and 
pleasure : 

My Dearest Wife : Pray forgive me for not 
writing sooner, but I have been exceedingly busy 
since I returned to town, and have dined each night 
with Eivers at his club. I send a hasty line now 
to say that you can bring Judy back to Philippa 
Terrace whenever she is strong enough to be moved, 
as I have given Shoolbred full directions with regard 
to furnishing the spare room, and have just had a 
letter from him to say the goods will be delivered 
to-day. 

Pray don’t tire yourself more than is necessary. 
And believe me, 

^^Your affectionate husband, 

Jasper Quentyns.” 

'STudy,” said Hilda — she turned eagerly, the old 
lovely color mantling her cheeks, and the brightness 
of hope filling her eyes. Isn’t J asper good, J udy ? 
I have just heard from him — ^he says the furniture 
is coming in for your room to-day. We can go back 
to town as soon as ever Dr. Harvey thinks you strong 
enough to be moved, my pet.” 

Which won’t be this week/’ interrupted Aunt 


A YOtJNG MtJTiNEEf^. 


118 

Marjorie. It would be the sheerest madness. Has 
Jasper proposed such a thing, Hilda? If so, I can 
only say how like a man. In about a fortnight this 

dear child may be the better for change of air I 

have no doubt, too, that Dr. Harvey will be pleased 
to have a London opinion about her. There may be a 
weakness of the heart’s action. I never am easy about 
people who faint off suddenly. How, Judy, why do 
you flush up ? You know you oughtn’t to listen when 
auntie talks to Hilda about you. Go on reading your 
pretty story book, my love. Yes, Hilda, I should like 
the child to see a first-class physician. You know 
your mother’s heart was not strong. He will doubt- 
less order cod-liver oil, but for my part I prefer 
cream.” 

I know something better than cream for J udy — 
don’t I, my pet ? ” said Hilda, turning to her little 
sister with her bright smile. 

And so do I,” replied Judy. Oh, Hilda, to 
think of living with you in your own little house! 
Oh, Hilda, I’m too happy — I am so happy that my 
heart aches. It aches with pleasure.” 

Judy’s thin arms were flung round her sister’s 
neck. Her lips pressed Hilda’s soft young cheek, 
her eyes looked into Hilda’s. It seemed to them both 
at that moment that soul answered to soul. 

“ How what nonsense this is,” said Aunt Mar- 
jorie in her fussy tones. ‘^Judy, I hope Hilda is 
not going to encourage you in silly sentimental talk 
of that kind. You say your heart aches with pleas- 
ure. Eeally, my dear, I have no patience to listen to 
you. I should like to know what a child like you 
knows about heartaches — you, who have been brought 
up in what I may call the very lap of luxury. For, 
Hilda, I have made it the object of my life ever since 
poverty came to us to prevent even the slightest 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


119 


shadow of its wings touching the children. They 
have had their excellent governess, and their warm 
schoolroom, and snug bedroom. I cut down one of 
my own fur cloaks to give them really nice winter 
jackets, and I took special care that the schoolroom 
table should be as liberal as ever. It is impossible, 
therefore, for me to understand Judy’s silly words 
about her heart aching.” 

Aunt Marjorie left the room, and Judy still softly 
rubbed her cheek against Hilda’s. 

But my heart did ache,” she said after a pause — 

it aches with joy now, and it did ache — oh, it kept 
crying, it felt starved without you, Hilda.” 

I understand — yes, I understand,” replied Hilda. 

" You don’t mind what Aunt Marjorie says, 
then ? ” 

Not about you, my own little love.” 

Hilda, I did really try very, very hard not to 
fret.” 

^'The effort was too much for you, my Judy; but 
never mind, the pain and the parting are all over now. 
Isn’t it kind of your new brother — isn’t it kind of 
dear, dear J asper, to get the nice little room furnished 
and ready for you ? ” 

'^Y'es, Hilda. Has he gone in debt for the fur- 
niture? You told me long ago that the room would 
have been furnished and that I should have come to 
you, but there was no money left, and Jasper would 
not go in debt. Has he really gone in debt now, just 
to please me ? ” 

No, my love, no — we have managed. You must 
not ask inquisitive questions. All is right now, and 
we shall be very happy together.” 

Dr. Harvey was highly pleased when he heard that 
his little patient was going to London with her sister. 

was a man with plenty of obseravtion^ and he 


120 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


could read between the lines much better than poor 
obtuse old Aunt Marjorie. 

You are the right physician for your little sis- 
ter, Mrs. Quentyns,’^ he said. I prophesy that Miss 
J udy will become perfectly strong and well in a short 
time under your care. Yes, there will be nothing to 
prevent her traveling to town on Saturday next if you 
really wish it. The weather is extraordinarily mild 
for the time of year, and a change will do Judy more 
good than anything else.’’ 

Hilda wrote a joyful letter to her husband that day. 

Y"ou are to expect us both on Saturday,” she said. 

Oh, Jasper, how happy your letter has made me! 
How good — how really good you are. Please forgive 
me if I was a little hasty with you the other evening. 
I know you will never regret, darling husband, help- 
ing me to keep both my vows — the vow I made to 
you, and the vow I made mother. No one ever had a 
more loving wife than I shall prove to you, and no 
one ever had a dearer little sister than you will find 
my J udy when you really know her.” 

Her J udy, indeed ! ” murmured Quentyns, when 
he read his wife’s letter at his breakfast-table on 
the following morning. Tiresome little piece — she’ll 
never be my Judy, however much she may be Hilda’s. 
Well, I suppose I must make the best of a bad job, 
but if I had known beforehand that that wretched 
sentimental child was to be tacked on to us I’d have 
thought twice. . . . No, I wouldn’t, though; I 

love Hilda well enough to bear some inconvenience 
for her sake ; but if she thinks this step will really add 
to our happiness she’ll soon find her mistake. Fancy 
her asking me to sell her engagament ring! I can 
never get over that. Things can’t be quite the same 
again — it’s impossible. Well, well, more than one 
friend has told me I’d wake from my dream of bliss 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


121 


some day. I have, with a vengeance — it has been 
something of a shock too. Heigho ! I am not going 
to look like defeat, anyhow. Of course, too. I’ll be 
just the same to Hilda outwardly. Ah; there’s Susan 
— I’d better speak to her and get her to tell cook. 
This is Thursday — they’ll be here in two days.” 

Susan,” as the neat parlor maid entered the room, 

I have had a letter from your mistress. She is com- 
ing home on Saturday, and will bring little Miss Mer- 
ton with her. Have the things come from Shoolbred’s 
yet ? ” 

The furniture, sir, for the spare room ? Yes, it 
arrived yesterday, and the man is coming to lay down 
the carpet and put up the curtains this morning.” 

^‘Well, Susan, you get the room ready, and have 
the bed well aired, and tell me if there’s anything 
more wanted — the child has been ill, and she’ll re- 
quire every comfort. Mrs. Quentyns will wish the 
room to look as nice as it is possible to make it. 
I know nothing about these matters — see to it, Susan, 
will you?” 

Yes, sir; you may depend on me and cook to do 
everything right ” 

And tell cook about your mistress. Let me see, 
they’ll be home between five and six on Saturday even- 
ing. I shan’t dine at home to-night, and if a tele- 
gram comes for me I want you to wire to my city 
address. This is it.” 

Quentyns left the house, and Susan and the cook 
spent a busy day in dusting, polishing, sweeping, and 
cleaning. 

The little spare room looked very sweet and bright 
with the simple, tasty furniture which Quentyns had 
chosen. The small bed was inviting in its white 
draperies. The furniture, painted in artistic greens, 
had a cool and young effect. The room looked like 


122 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


a child’s room, and Susan and cook were in ecstacies 
over its appearance. 

‘^Master ’ave taste and no mistake/’ said cook. 

But why don’t he come and look for ’isself at all 
we have done, Susan ? So natty as everything looks, 
and the furniture master’s taste and all. Won’t missis 
he pleased ! But why don’t he come and say what he 
thinks of how we has put the things, Susan ? ” 

Never you mind,” said Susan ; master knows as 
the arranging of furniture is woman’s province — 
there’s no fussing in him, and that’s what I likes 
him for.” 

Saturday arrived in due time, and the little house 
in Philippa Terrace was in apple-pie order. 

As Quentyns was leaving for town that morning 
Susan waylaid him. 

^‘What hour shall I tell my missis that we may 
expect you home, sir ? ” ^he asked. Mrs. Quentyns 
and the little lady will be here by six, and the very 
first thing my missis will ask is when you are coming 
in.” 


Say,” began Quent3ms — he paused. I’ll write 
a line,” he said ; “ you can give it to your mistress. 
I shan’t be in to dinner to-night, and cook had bet- 
ter prepare tea for Mrs. Quentyns and Miss Merton, 
with fish or chops or something of that sort. 
I’ll write a line — I’m glad you reminded me, 
Susan.” 

Quentyns went into his tiny little study, and wrote 
a few hasty words: 


Dear Hilda : I have some important work to get 
til rough to-night, and shall not be back early. I have 
the latchkey, so no one need sit up. I shall dine at 
the club with Rivers. Go to bed early, if you are 
tired, Yqur Affectionate Husband,” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


m 

This letter was handed to Hilda on her arrival. 
She was too excited and too interested in getting 
Judy into the house, and showing her all the pleas- 
ant arrangements made for her comfort, to read it 
at first; but when her tired little sister was safe in 
bed, and Hilda had seen her enjoying a cup of tea, 
with some toast and a new-laid country egg, then 
she took Jasper’s note out of her pocket. 

She was in her own room, and she hesitated for a 
moment before she opened it. She had a kind of 
premonition that there was pain in it. Her home- 
coming had made her happy, and even while she was 
opening the envelope of Jasper’s letter she was lis- 
tening for the click of his latchkey in the hall door 
lock. 

He was always in good time on Saturdays, and 
surely he would make extra haste to-night in order 
to give his wife and his little sister a hearty wel- 
come. 

Hilda’s was the most forgiving nature in the world. 
During that scene in the conservatory at Little 
Staunton she had lost her temper with her husband, 
but she felt quite sure now that her hasty words must 
be forgotten. As she forgave absolutely, so would he. 
Why had he written to her, therefore ? Why was he 
not here? She pulled the note out of its envelope, 
and read the few words that it contained. 

It is not too much to say that her heart sank 
down, down, very low indeed in her breast. She 
became conscious for the first time in her life of that 
heart-hunger, that absolute starved sort of ache which 
had so nearly wrecked Judy’s little life. This was the 
first pang of pain, but the ache was to go on and be- 
come worse presently. 

Hilda was a very patient sort of woman, however, 
and it did not occur to her to cry out or make a fuss. 


124 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


She read the note twice, then put it into her pocket 
and went downstairs. 

“ Tell cook that I don’t want any dinner/’ she said 
to Susan ; I will have my tea upstairs with Miss 
Judy. Tell her not to get dinner, as Mr. Quentyns is 
obliged to be out this evening.” 

“ Hilda,” called Judy’s weak little voice from out 
of her luxurious white bed ; “ Hilda, do come here a 
minute.” 

Hilda went immediately into the room. 

I am so happy and so sleepy,” said Judy. I’m 
like a bird in a nest — oh, I am so snug. Jasper will be 
coming in presently, won’t he, Hilda? and you’ll 
want to be with him. I shan’t need you at all to- 
night, Hilda darling; I’m going to sleep very soon, 
and I just sent for you now to say that you mustn’t 
come up to me after dinner — you must stay with J as- 
per and let him amuse you. I am sure you want lots 
of amusement after all the doll nursing you have had. 
Go and put on your pretty dinner dress now, Hilda, 
and then come and look at me and say good-night. I 
am so awfully happy, and I just want one kiss from 
you before I go to sleep.” 

But you don’t want to go to sleep yet, little puss,” 
said Hilda, in her most cheerful tone ; at least I 
hope you don’t until I have had my tea. I want to 
have my tea with you, darling, so I hope you don’t 
mind putting up with my company for a little lon- 
ger.” 

As if I could mind — you know better. But, 
Hilda, if you have tea now you won’t be hungry for 
your dinner.” 

Judy puckered her dark brows with anxiety. 

I’m not going to have dinner.” 

^^You aren’t — not really! then what will Jasper 
say?” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


125 


I’ve had a little letter from J asper, darling ; he 
is obliged to be out late on business, and won’t dine 
at home to-night. Ah, here comes Susan with an- 
other new-laid egg for me, and some fresh toast. INow 
I am going to have a delightful little supper in your 
company, Judy, and then I shall settle you for the 
night.” 

Hilda talked faster than was her wont; there was 
an additional rose-color in her pretty cheeks, and a 
brighter light than usual in her soft brown eyes. She 
laughed and Jested and made merry over her egg and 
toast. 

How pretty you look,” said Judy, with a heart- 
whole sigh of admiration and content. 

She saw nothing wrong, and Hilda kissed her and 
left the room a few minutes later. 

She was still wearing her heavy traveling-dress, 
but after a moment’s reflection she went into her 
bedroom, and quickly changed it for a pale silk dress 
of the softest shade of rose. This dress was a special 
favorite of her husband’s; he used to liken her to a 
rosebud in it, and said that no color more truly 
matched the soft, tender bloom of her young face. 

Hilda put on the rose silk now, arranged her dark 
hair picturesquely, and going downstairs to the little 
drawing-room, occupied herself for an hour or more 
in giving it some of those delicate touches which make 
the difference between the mistress of the house being 
at home and away. 

It was a very warm evening for the time of year, 
but Hilda had a fire lit in the grate. The shaded 
lamp shed a softened golden glow in its accustomed 
corner of the room, and Jasper’s favorite chair was 
placed ready for his reception ; then Hilda sank down 
into her own easy-chair, and taking up a book tried tg 
read. 


126 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Susan came presently into the room. 

‘‘Oh, Susan/^ said her mistress, “I was about to 
ring for you. It has struck ten o’clock ; you and cook 
are to go to bed, please ; I will wait up for Mr. Quen- 
tyns.” 

“ If you please, ma’am,” said Susan. 

She stopped and hesitated. 

“ Yes, Susan? ” answered Mrs. Quentyns, in a gem 
tie, interrogative tone. 

“ If you please, ma’am, master has been very late 
coming home when you was in the country — not till 
past midnight most nights.” 

“ Thank you, Susan ; but Mr. Quentyns will prob- 
ably be in earlier to-night, and I wish to remain up. 
Go to bed, and tell cook to do the same. Oh, and 
please, I should like Miss Judy to have a cup of tea 
brought to her room at eight to-morrow morning. 
Good-night, Susan.” 

The parlor maid withdrew. 

“And don’t she look beautiful as a pictur,” she 
muttered under her breath. “ Pore 5^oiing lady, I 
doubt if she’s pleased with master, though. Him 
staying away and all on the first night as she comes 
back. I wouldn’t set up for him ef I were her — 
no, that I wouldn’t ; I wouldn’t make so little of my- 
self; but she’s proud, too, is Mrs. Quentyns, and she 
don’t let on, no, not a bit. Well, I respect her for 
that, but I misdoubt me if all is right atween that 
pair.” 

Susan went upstairs to confide her suspicions to 
cook. They talked in low whispers together, and 
wondered what the mystery could be which was keep- 
ing Quentyns from his pretty wife’s side. 

In the meantime in the silent house the moments 
for the one anxious watcher went slowly by. Her 
novel was not interesting — she let it fall on her knees, 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 127 

and looking at the little clock on the mantel-piece, 
counted the moments until eleven should strike. 

She quite expected that Jasper would be home at 
eleven. It did not enter for a moment into her cal- 
culations that he could be absent on this first night 
of her return beyond that hour. When the eleven 
musical strokes sounded on the little clock, and were 
echoed in many deeper booms from without, she got 
up, and opening the drawing-room door, stepped out 
into the little hall. 

Footsteps kept passing and passing in the street. 
Cabs kept rolling up to other doors and rolling away 
again. Jasper must surely arrive at any moment. 

Hilda softly opened the hall door, and standing on 
the steps, looked up and down the gas-lit street. If 
Jasper were walking home he would see her. The 
lamplight from within threw her slim figure into 
strong relief. A man passing by stopped for an in- 
stant to look at her. 

Hilda shut the hall door hastily in fear and dis- 
tress. The man had looked as if he might sny some- 
thing rude. She returned to her little drawing-room, 
and sitting down by the dying fire stared fixedly into 
its embers until her eyes were full of tears. 

Between twelve and one Quentyns let himself softly 
into the house with his latchkey. He was imme- 
diately attracted by the light in the drawing-room, 
the door of which was slightly ajar. He came into 
the room at once, to find Hilda lying back in her 
easy-chair, fast asleep. She was looking pale — all her 
pretty roses had fled. Quentyns’ first impulse was to 
fold her in his arms in an embrace of absolute love 
and reconciliation. 

What a pity it is that we don’t oftener yield to our 
first impulses, for they are as a rule whispered to lUB 
by our good angels. 


A YOtr^G MTJTINEEII. 


1^8 

Quentyns bent forward, and lightly, very lightly, 
touched the sleeper’s soft hair with his big hand. 
That touch was a caress, but it startled Hilda, who 
woke up with a cry. 

Oh, Jasper,” she said, looking at him with alarm 
in her eyes, you — ^you are home ! I didn’t mean 
to go to sleep, and — what is it, Jasper ? ” 

Kiss me, Hilda ; I am glad you have returned,’^ 
said Quentyns. “ But another night, if I should hap- 
pen to be late, you must not sit up for me — I hate be- 
ing waited for.” 


CHAPTEK XIV. 

THE LITTLE RIFT. 

No backward path; ah! no returning; 

No second crossing that ripple’s flow: 

Come to me now, for the mist is burning; 

Come ere it darkens; Ah, no, ah, no! 

— Jean Ingelow. 

Jasper Quentyns was quite certain that he was 
behaving admirably under circumstances of a 
specially trying nature. 

Judy’s advent in the house gave him no small 
annoyance. Hilda’s behavior about Judy, her fit of 
sudden passion, above all the relinquishing of her 
engagement ring, had cut him to the quick. He was 
proud, sensitive, and jealous; when, therefore, he 
could smile at Judy and chat in light and pleasant 
tones to his wife, when he could remark on the furni- 
ture in the new spare room, and make many sugges- 
tions for the comfort of the little sister-in-law whom 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


129 


he detested, he was under the impression that his con- 
duct was not only exemplary but Christian. 

It was true that he went out a good deal in the 
evenings, not taking Hilda with him as had been his 
original intention, but leaving her at home to enjoy 
the society of the child who had brought the first 
cloud into his home. 

I am going to dine out to-night, Hilda,'" he would 
say. A man I know particularly well has asked me. 
Afterward he and I may go to the theater together. 
You won't mind of course being left, as you have 
Judy with you?" 

" Oh, no, dear," she replied, on the first of these 
occasions ; and when J asper came to say something of 
this sort two or three times a week, Hilda's invariable 
gentle answer was always that she did not mind. 

Jasper was kind — kindness itself, and if she did 
feel just a trifle afraid of him, and if she could not 
help knowing all over her heart that the sun did not 
shine now for her, that there was a cloud between her 
husband and herself, which she could neither brush 
away nor penetrate, she made no outward sign of be- 
ing anything different from the cheery and affec- 
tionate Hilda of old. There were subjects now, how- 
ever, which she shrank from touching on in Jasper's 
presence. One of them was her engagement ring, 
another the furniture in Judy's room. That ring she 
had been told by more than one connoisseur was worth 
at least fifty pounds, and Hilda was certain that the 
simple furniture which made Judy's little room so 
bower-like and youthful could not have cost anything 
approaching that sum. Still Jasper said nothing 
about giving her change out of the money which he 
had spent, and Hilda feared to broach the subject of 
the ring to him. Another topic which by a sort of in- 
stinct she refrained from was Judy herself. When 


m 


A YOtJNG MU’MNEfifi. 


Jasper was in the house Hilda was always glad when 
Judy retired to her own room. When the gay little 
voice, happy now, and clear and sweet as a lark’s, was 
heard singing snatches of gay songs all over the house, 
if Jasper were there Hilda would carefully close the 
door of the room he was sitting in. 

Hot now, Judy darling,” she would say, w'hen the 
child bounded eagerly into their presence. “ Jasper 
is just going out — when he is out I will attend to 
you. Go on with your drawing in the dining-room 
until I come to you, Judy.” 

Judy would go away at once, obedient and happy, 
but Hilda’s face would flush with anxiety, and her 
eyes would not meet her husband’s. So between each 
of these young people there was that wall of reserve 
which is the sad beginning of love’s departure; but 
Hilda, being the weaker of the two and having less to 
occupy her thoughts, suffered more than Jasper. 

On a certain evening when Judy had been a happy 
resident of Ho. 10 Philippa Terrace for over a month, 
Quentyns was about to leave his office, and to return 
home, when his friend Tom Rivers entered his room. 

‘‘ Have you any engagement for to-night, Quen- 
tyns ? ” he asked abruptly. 

^^Hone,” said Jasper, visible relief on his face, 
for he was beginning to dislike the evenings which 
he spent with a wife who always had a sense of con- 
straint over her, and with the knowledge that Judy’s 
presence was only tolerated when he was by. I 
am at your service, Tom,” said Jasper. Do you 
want me to go anywhere with you ? ” 

Rivers was a great deal older than Quentyns, he 
was a very clever and practical man of the world. 
He looked now full at Jasper. He had not failed 
to observe the eager relief on his friend’s face when 
he asked if he had any engagement. To a certain 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


131 


extent Jasper had made Rivers his confidant. He had 
told him that Hilda’s little sister, who had been so ill 
and had given them all such a fright, was staying now 
at Philippa Terrace. 

Rivers shrewdly guessed that Hilda’s little sister 
was scarcely a welcome guest, as far as Quentyns was 
concerned. Rivers had taken a fancy to pretty Mrs. 
Quentyns. With a quick mental survey he saw again 
the picture of the young wife on the night when he 
had dined at Philippa Terrace. 

She did not^look perfectly happy,” he thought. 

I hope Quentyns is good to her. I seldom saw 
a more charming face than hers, but with such eyes, 
so full of expression, so full of that sort of dumb, 
dog-like affectionateness, she must, she will suffer 
horribly if there comes a cloud between her husband 
and herself. Quentyns is the best of fellows, but he 
can be dogged and obstinate — I hope to goodness 
there’s nothing up in their pretty little home.” 

Aloud Rivers said abruptly, I had thought of ask- 
ing you to dine at the club with me, and then we 
might have gone to see Irving in ^ Henry VIII.’ — a 
friend has given me two stalls — ^but on second 
thoughts I can dispose of those tickets. What I 
should really like best is to come home with you, 
Quentyns, and have the pleasure of another chat with 
your wife. I want to hear you both sing, too — I sel- 
dom heard two voices better suited to go together. 
May I invite myself to dinner to-night, Jasper ? ” 

Oh, certainly,” said Jasper, after a moment’s 
awkward hesitation. I’ll just wire to Hilda, if you 
don’t mind.” 

Not at all,” said Rivers ; but remember, I am 
coming to take pot-luck.” 

Jasper ran off to the nearest telegraph office. 

Rivers saw that his proposal was anything but 


132 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


welcome, but for that very reason he was determined 
to carry it out. 

An hour later he found himself standing in the 
pretty drawing-room in Philippa Terrace, talking to 
the most charming little girl he had ever had the 
pleasure of meeting. 

Quentyns had run up at once to his room, and 
Hilda had not yet put in an appearance, but Judy, 
who was sitting on a sofa reading Sylvie and 
Bruno,” jumped up at once and came forward in her 
shy but self-possessed little way to meet her sister’s 
guest. 

How do you do ? ” she said. Where would you 
like to sit ? ” 

I prefer standing, thank you,” said Rivers. He 
smiled at J udy and held out his hand. So you 
are the young mutineer,” he said suddenly. 

Judy’s big eyes looked up at him in surprise — she 
was dressed in a green silk frock, with a broad golden- 
brown sash round her waist. Her dress was cut 
rather low in the neck, and she had several rows of 
golden-brown beads round her throat. The quaint 
dress sjiited the quaint but earnest little face. 

‘‘What do you mean by calling me such a queer 
name? ” said Judy. 

“ I am a great friend of your brother-in-law’s,” 
said Rivers, now dropping into a chair and drawing 
the child toward him, “ and he has told me all about 
you — -you mutinied when Mrs. Quentyns went 
away — it was very wrong of you, very wrong in- 
deed.” 

“ Y"ou can’t judge anything about it,” said Judy, 
the sensitive color coming into her face; “you are 
on Jasper’s side, so you can’t know.” 

“Of course I’m on Jasper’s side; he’s an excel- 
lent fellow, and a great friend of mine.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 133 

I don’t like him/’ said Judy; it isn’t to be ex- 
pected I should.” 

‘‘ Of course not; you wouldn’t be a mutineer if you 
did.” 

wish you wouldn’t call me by that horrid 
name/’ said Judy. ‘‘I can’t quite understand what 
it means, but I’m sure it’s disagreeable.” 

A mutineer is always a disagreeable person,” con- 
tinued Rivers, looking with his pleasant eyes full at 
the child. He is in a state of rebellion, you know. 
People aren’t nice when they rebel against the in- 
evitable.” 

What’s the inevitable?” asked Judy. 

The inevitable ! ” repeated Rivers. The inevit- 
able,” he continued gravely, is what has to be met 
because it cannot be avoided. The inevitable stands 
directly in a person’s path; he can’t go round it, he 
can’t jump over it, he has just to meet it bravely and 
make the best friend he possibly can of it.” 

^‘Oh,” said Judy, ^^that sounds like a fairy tale. 
Bab§ and I love fairy tales, particularly the old, old 
ones — the Jack the Giant Killer sort — ^you under- 
stand ? ” 

Jack the Giant Killer had lots of inevitables to 
meet,” pursued Rivers. 

^‘Yes, of course,” said Judy; ‘^now I know what 
you mean as far as dear Jack was concerned, but I 
don’t know what you mean about me.” 

‘^Well, you see. Miss Judy — you don’t mind my 
calling Jasper’s little sister Miss Judy ? ” 

"Oh, don’t talk of him,” said Judy, a frown be- 
tween her brows. 

"But I must if I’m to explain my meaning to 
you, for he’s the inevitable.” 

"Now what do you mean? — you’re the most puz- 
zling sort of grown-up person I ever met 1 ” 


134 


A TOUM MtrTINEfitl. 


“And you’re the most intelligent sort of little 
person I ever met. Now let me explain matters to 
you. Your sister is very pretty, isn’t she? ” 

Pretty?” said Judy meditatively — pretty is 
such a common sort of word — if you call flowers 
pretty, Hilda is, I suppose, but she’s much, much 
more than pretty.” 

understand. I’m quite sure I understand you 
perfectly. And your sister is good, too, and sweet ? ” 
Oh, yes.” Judy’s eyes filled with tears, she 
blinked her eyelashes and looked out of the window. 

Well, now,” said Eivers, and his voice was quite 
tender, for Judy’s manner and attitude touched him 
wonderfully. “ Well, now, you see it was inevitable 
that some man should love a woman like your sister, 
and want to make her his wife, and wish to take her 
altogether to himself. It was inevitable, also, that a 
woman with a gentle heart like Mrs. Quentyns’ should 
love this man in return and want to devote her life 
to him.” 

Don’t ! ” said J udy suddenly ; I understand 
you now. I don’t want you to say another word.” 

She crossed over to the window and stood there 
with her back to Eivers, looking gravely out. 

Hilda came down in her rose-colored silk, and 
Eivers did not wonder that Judy thought of the 
flowers when she looked at her. 

Hilda was unfeignedly glad to see him, and they 
had a pleasanter evening than any since Judy’s ad- 
vent in Philippa Terrace. Eivers paid a great deal 
of attention to the smallest and youngest member of 
the party, and not only completely won Hilda’s heart 
by so doing, but induced Quentyns to look at his little 
sister-in-law with new eyes, and to discover for the 
first time that under certain conditions that wistful 
little face could be both lovely and charming. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


135 

^'Remember about the inevitable/^ said Rivers, 
as he bade the child good-night. 

What did Mr. Rivers mean, Judy?” said Hilda. 

Oh, Judy, what flushed cheeks ! — I did wrong to let 
you sit up, but you seemed so happy — ^you seemed to 
take such a very great fancy to Mr. Rivers.” 

He was disagreeable to me — very disagreeable,” 
said Judy, but I liked him.” 

And what did he mean by reminding you of the 
inevitable ? ” continued Hilda. 

It was in that way he was disagreeable,” replied 
J udy. I can’t explain, Hilda darling ; good-night 
— I am going to bed now.” 

That evening, in their own room, Hilda came sud- 
denly to her husband’s side. 

^‘Jasper, don’t you think you might forget about 
it now ? ” she said timidly. 

Forget about what, Hilda ? ” He had been genial 
and pleasant until she began to speak, now his face 
stiffened in every outline, and the look came over it 
which always took poor Hilda’s courage away. 

We were so happy to-night,” she began in a fal- 
tering voice — we had quite the best evening we have 
had since — ” Here she hesitated. 

Since Judy came,” pursued Jasper. ^^Yes, that 
goes without saying; there were four of us — even the 
dearest friends are dull when there are three, and 
of course Rivers is capital company; he’s quite the 
best fellow all round I ever met.” 

Oh, yes,” said Hilda, a little impatiently, but 
I don’t want to talk to him. Jasper dear, let us 
forget, let us — oh, let us be as we were before.” 

Tears choked her voice, she turned her head away. 

^‘1 am so tired,” she said suddenly; am the 
sort of girl who wants sunshine; I am so tired of 
being without it.” 


136 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


When you talk in that metaphorical style I fail 
to understand you/’ said Quentyns. ‘^There’s not 
the least cloud between us that I am aware of, and 
if you are not in the sunshine, Hilda, I am afraid 
it is your own fault. I have done everything in my 
power to meet your wishes. You profess great love 
for me, and great love for your sister, and now you 
have us both, what can you possibly want besides ? ” 

Only your forgiveness, your complete and full 
forgiveness.” 

" I have nothing to forgive, my dear. You do your 
best — no one can do better than their best.” 

No,” said poor Hilda, with a sigh. She did not 
add any more. 

I trust you are not going to turn into a fanciful 
sort of woman,” said Quentyns, half an hour later. 
“ If there’s a person in the world who irritates me it’s 
a woman with whims, a woman who has a grievance.” 

Oh, no, Jasper, I won’t have a grievance,” she re- 
plied humbly. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


137 


CHAPTER XV. 

THREE IS TRUMPERY. 

The crown must be won for heaven, dear. 

In the battlefield of life: 

My child, though thy foes are strong and tried. 

He loveth the weak and small; 

The angels of heaven are on thy side. 

And God is over all! 

— Adelaide Pboctob. 

Judy's life was sunshine, and therefore Judy got 
quickly well; she was like the birds and the flowers 
— give her sunshine enough, and she would sing like 
the birds and bloom like the flowers. Hilda was her 
sun, and now she was always basking herself in the 
beloved presence. Her cup of happiness was full, and 
such contentment reigned in her little heart that no 
moment was dull to her, and time never hung heavy 
on her hands. 

Hilda was just as sweet and loving as of old, and 
really now that she lived in the house with him, 
Jasper, her hUe noir, the awful big brother-in-law 
who had come and stolen her treasure away, seemed 
to make but little difference in her life ; it was almost 
nicer being with Hilda in London than being with 
Hilda at the old rectory — she seemed to get more un- 
divided attention from her sister than when that sis- 
ter was the rector’s right hand in his busy life, and 
when Judy had to learn lessons with Babs, and walk 
:^ith stupid, non-comprehending Miss Mills, 


138 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Now Judy learned rapidly, for Hilda was her 
teacher ; and how delightful that lunch was which was 
also Judy^s early dinner, when she and her sister 
sat tUe-d’tete and talked always, always of old 
times. 

If visitors dropped in at tea-time Judy could af- 
ford, in her generous happiness, to give them a little 
of her fascinating Hilda’s attention, for so often now 
there were heavenly evenings to follow, when that 
hUe noir the brother-in-law was not coming home, 
and the two sisters could be alone. 

Judy loved the cozy sort of tea-dinners which be- 
gan those evenings, and then the long talk afterward 
in the lengthening twilight, when she sat on a stool at 
Hilda’s feet, with her head pressed up against Hilda’s 
arm, and her happy heart beating close to the other 
heart, which was all her world. 

On those evenings, too, Hilda came upstairs and 
tucked her up in her white bed, and said, Now I lay 
me down to sleep ” to her, just as she used in the old 
nursery at home, after mother died. 

It was an understood thing, although no words had 
passed between the two — it was an understood thing 
that on the evenings when Jasper was at home Hilda 
should not come upstairs to Judy. This seemed a 
perfectly fair and just arrangement; they were both 
in full accord on the subject ; but Judy could not help 
loving those days when she might have her sister all 
to herself the best. 

On the morning after Rivers had dined in Philippa 
Terrace, as Jasper was preparing to go out as usual 
Hilda ran into the little hall to give him a last word ; 
she left the door of the dining-room ajar, which was 
not her invariable custom, and Judy, sitting at the 
breakfast-table, found herself in the position of an 
eavesdropper. 


A Y6VM 139 

You are coining back to dinner to-night ? ’’ asked 
the wife. 

J asper had been visited with some slight qualms of 
compunction that morning, as he noticed how much 
paler Hilda^s face was than when first he had married 
her, so he put his arm round her neck now, and look- 
ing at her with something of his old tenderness, said 
gently: 

Do you really wish it ? ” 

Jasper, how can you doubt ? she replied. All 
the moments you are away from me are long and 
wearisome.” 

Long and wearisome,” repeated Judy softly to 
herself in the breakfast parlor. Some of the color 
fled out of her face now ; she lost her appetite for the 
bread and butter and marmalade which she was eat- 
ing. 

You don’t find three trumpery,” pursued Jasper. 
Then he added with a little sigh, I wish I didn’t ; 
but I’ll come home, Hilda, if you wish it. Good- 
by, my dear. Stay, stop a moment; suppose I take 
you to the play to-night. Judy won’t mind going 
to bed a little earlier than usual.” 

Just at that moment Hilda started and looked 
round; she heard a slight noise, and wondered if 
Susan were coming upstairs. The sound which dis- 
turbed her was made by J udy, who, awaking suddenly 
to the knowledge that she was an eavesdropper, had 
risen from the breakfast-table and gently closed the 
dining-room door. 

^^Of course Judy doesn’t mind being left,” said 
Hilda in a joyful tone. should love to go out 
somewhere with you, Jasper; I really do want a little 
bit of change.” 

^^Very well, my love; I’ll take tickets for some- 
thing amusing, and be home to dinner at six.” 


A YOtrNG MtmNEEH. 


140 

Qiientyns went out, and Hilda danced back to tbe 
dining-room. Her husband had been kind, with 
something of the old tender kindness, and her heart 
leaped up like a flower answering to the sun. 

Judy was standing by the window looking out. 

Isn’t it a lovely day, pet?” said Hilda, coming 
up to her. Suppose we give ourselves a holiday, 
and go to the academy together. I have not been 
there yet this year, and you have never been in all 
your life, puss. You know how you love pictures; 
fancy room after room full of pictures — all sorts, 
good, bad, and indifferent; all colors in them; all 
sorts of subjects depicted on the canvases. There’s 
a treat for my little artist — shall I give it her ? ” 

Yes, Hilda, I’d like to go with you very much.” 

Are you tired, dear, your face is so grave ? ” 

^^No, darling, I’m not at all tired.” 

Well, we’ll give ourselves a holiday. Eun up 
and put on your pretty green cloak, and that big 
black hat with the green velvet. I want you to 
look as picturesque as possible. I want to be proud 
of you.” 

Judy suddenly flew to Hilda, clasped her arms 
round her neck, gave her a passionate hug, and then 
rushed out of the room. 

What’s the matter with the child ? ” thought the 
elder sister for a brief moment ; she was so bright 
yesterday, and even this morning, but now she’s 
dull, although she tries to hide it. I wonder if I 
ought to give her some more of her tonic. Well, 
well, whether Judy is grave or gay, I cannot help 
feeling very happy at the thought of going out with 
Jasper once more.” 

Hilda gave all directions with regard to the nice 
little dinner which was to precede the play. She 
found a story book which Judy had not yet read. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


141 


and left it in the drawing-room ready for her enter- 
tainment when she was away; then, dressed also in 
her best, she went out with her little sister, and, 
calling a hansom from the nearest stand, drove to 
Burlington House. 

As usual the great exhibition was crowded with 
all sorts and conditions of men — the fashionable, 
the studious, the artistic, the ignorant were all to 
be found there. Judy had a passion for art. She 
was an artist by nature, down to the tips of her 
sensitive little fingers. No sooner did she find her- 
self in the midst of all the pictures than whatever 
cloud made her a little graver than usual took to 
itself wings and flew away. 

Her pertinent remarks, her eager criticism, shrewd, 
observant, often strangely to the point, aroused the 
attention of some of the bystanders; they smiled as 
the pretty child and the beautiful girl walked slowly 
by together. Judy’s intelligent face was commented 
on; the pathetic, eager, wistful eyes seemed to make 
their way to more than one heart. Hilda, think- 
ing of her evening with Jasper, was quite her old self, 
and people thought what a happy pair the two 
were. 

In the third room they suddenly came face to face 
with Rivers. 

What a bit of luck ! ” he said, going up at once 
to them. ‘‘ Now, Mrs. Quentyns, I shall insist upon 
taking you to lunch somewhere. Miss Judy, how 
are you? what do you think of our national picture 
fair ? 

Some of the pictures are lovely,’’ she replied. 

‘^Some!” he retorted, raising his brows. ‘"You 
don’t mean to say you are setting yourself up as a 
critic.” 

<‘Judy is an artist by nature,” said Hilda for 


142 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


her. Hark to her remarks with regard to the two 
dogs in that picture.” 

‘‘ They are meant to move, but they are perfectly 
still,” said Judy; ‘Sf I drew them, I’d” — she puck- 
ered her brows — oh, I’d see that they were gambol- 
ing about.” 

A young man, who was standing not far off, turned 
away with a red face — ^lie happened to be the unfor- 
tunate artist. Bitter hatred of Judy filled his heart, 
for some of the people who were standing near tittered 
aloud, and remarked for the first time that the dogs 
were wooden. 

Rivers walked with Mrs. Quentyns and Judy 
through the different rooms: he was an art connois- 
seur himself, and even dabbled in paint in a dilet- 
tante sort of fashion. He drew Judy on to make 
remarks, laughed and quizzed her for some ideas 
which he considered in advance of the times — for 
others which were altogether too antiquated for him 
to pass unchallenged. 

“ Oh, how Stanmore would like to hear you,” he 
remarked, naming one of the pet artists of the new 
art school. ‘^Why, Judy, you are a democrat; we 
should have no academy if we listened to you, you 
little rebel; but then, I forgot — of course you are a 
mutineer- — you are true to your character through 
everything.” 

Hilda scarcely listened as the young man and the 
child chatted and laughed together; her heart was 
dwelling altogether in the future. She fancied her- 
self even now driving to the play by her husband’s 
side; she saw the pretty dress she meant to wear; in 
her mind was reflected as in a picture the image of 
her fair self, and the image also of the man who was 
still in her heart lover as well as husband. No 
matter for the present cloud, he was still her lover. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


143 


She wondered if he would give her another tender 
glance, and if, as they sat side by side when the 
curtain was up and the actors were moving about on 
the stage, he would touch her hand with his, and 
show her in that way that she was forgiven. 

‘^If he would only understand that I must keep 
both my vows,^^ she murmured, “if I could only 
get him to really comprehend that much, much as I 
love my Judy, I would rather be alone with him — 
that is, I would rather be alone with him, if it 
makes him unhappy to have my sweet little Judy 
in the house. But how happy she is since I brought 
her home, how gay her voice sounds now.^’ 

“I said you were a mutineer,” laughed Rivers. 
“ I know by your manner that you will never put up 
with the inevitable.” 

“ Don^t ! ” said Judy ; Hilda was looking at a lovely 
landscape. A friend she knew came up and spoke to 
her. “ Don’t ! ” said Judy, turning and looking full 
at the young man; her e3"es were grave, her childish 
face grew suddenly white and drawn. “ Perhaps I 
am going to give up being a mutineer,” she mur- 
mured. 


144 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A LITTLE GIRL AND A LITTLE CROS8. 

Love that hath us in the net. 

Can he pass, and we forget? 

Many suns arise and set. 

Many a chance the years beget. 

Love the gift is Love the debt. 

Even so. 

Love is hurt with jar and fret. 

Love is made a vague regret. 

Eyes with idle tears are wet. 

Idle habit links us yet. 

What is love? for we forget: 

Ah, no! no! 

— Tennyson. 

Mrs. Quentyns and Judy enjoyed their lunch with 
Rivers. They went into the park afterward for a 
short time, and then Hilda, remembering that the 
hours were flying, and that she must be dressed and 
ready to receive her husband before six that even- 
ing, bade the young man a hasty good-by, and drove 
home with Judy. 

I am so glad you are going to the play,” said 
the little girl. ‘‘ Why don’t you often go — why don’t 
you constantly go out in the evening ? ” 

If I did, Judy, what a dull time youM have.” 

"You’re quite mistaken, Hilda; I shouldn’t be 
dull at all. You don’t know how I like story-books, 
and Susan is such a nice girl. She has got brothers 
and sisters at home, and she tells me about them 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


145 


when you are out. I am never lonely; I couldn’t 
possibly be sad in the same house with you. If I 
say you once or twice a day it would be enough for 
me — it would really.” 

‘‘My dear little pet,” laughed Hilda, “how sol- 
emnly you are talking, what a frightfully earnest 
tone has got into your voice, and how you are puck- 
ering your poor little forehead. I have only one thing 
to say in reply to your generous wish to leave me so 
much by myself, namely, that I should find it ex- 
tremely inconvenient and extremely lonely to have 
you in the house and only see you twice a 
day.” 

“But suppose I weren’t with you at all, Hilda — 
suppose I were still at the rectory.” 

“ That would be different,” said Hilda, in a light 
tone; “you would be in vour natural home, and 
I 

“But you would be lonely if I were away from 
you, Hilda ; do say you’d be fearfully lonely ! ” 

The passion in Judy’s voice was unnoticed by 
Hilda. 

“ I’d miss you, of course, my pet,” she said ; “ but 
I do declare that stupid driver is taking us wrong. 
Oh, if he goes up that way it will be such a round that 
I shall be late for Jasper’s dinner. Poke your parasol 
through the little window in the roof, Judy, and stop 
him, do.” 

Judy obeyed, the driver received his directions in 
due course, and a moment or two later Hilda and 
Judy were standing in the little hall at Philippa 
Terrace. Quentyns came suddenly forward. 

“ Why, Jasper, you have come back already,” said 
the wife. “ It isn’t five yet, but I— I can dress in no 
time. Have you got the tickets? — where are we go- 


ue 


A YOtTN(^ MtTTlNEfifi. 


Come into the drawing-room, Hilda, I want to 
say a word to you/’ said Quentyns. 

^^Eun upstairs and take your things off, Judy,” 
said Hilda. She followed her husband into the little 
drawing-room and shut the door. ‘‘Well?” she 
said. Her voice was still gay, but a little, just a 
little, of the old fear was creeping back into her 
heart. 

“I’m ever so sorry, Hilda, to disappoint you,” 
said Quentyns, “ but when I went to town this morn- 
ing I absolutely forgot an engagement I made a week 
ago. I have to go down with two or three men to 
Eichmond. We are to dine at the Star and Garter, 
and afterward Philip Danvers has asked me to go 
home with him. The Danvers are charming people — 
have a beautiful house on the river, and everything 
in the best possible style. I should rather like to cul- 
tivate them. It is never a good plan to throw over 
friends who may be influential; still, if you really 
wish it, Hilda, I’ll come home to-night and make 
some sort of excuse to Danvers — wire to him that I 
am ill, or something of the kind. Of course it is too 
late for me to get tickets for the play, but if you 
would like me to stay at home. I’ll — I’ll do it — so 
there ! ” 

Hilda’s face, which had been white, was now 
flushed. 

“ Why didn’t you tell me this morning ? ” she said. 
“AVhy did you forget? I spent a day of hope, and 
now — now — Her eyes filled with sudden tears, she 
bit her lips and turned away. 

Her action, which seemed almost pettish, annoyed 
Quentyns. 

“You needn’t cry,” he said. “I never supposed 
you could be so childish. Do you think I forgot on 
purpose? I was looking forward to my time at 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


ur 

Richmond, but it slipped my memory that this was 
the day. You needn’t cry, however, for if you have 
suddenly taken such a frantic desire for my society 
it is at your service. I shall go out and wire to Dan- 
vers, and be back again in half an hour.” 

After all, Mrs. Quentyns had plenty of self-con- 
trol. The annoyance and distress in her voice had 
altogether left it when she spoke again. 

Of course you must go, Jasper,” she said. You 
don’t suppose for a quarter of an instant that I 
should stand in your way. Let me go up with you 
and help you to put the things you want into a bag, 
and you will want some tea before you start. I’ll 
ring and tell Susan to prepare it. Now come along, 
dear; I’m glad of course that you are having this 
pleasure.” 

As Hilda ran upstairs her manner was once more 
quite cheerful. Quentyns, however, whose conscience 
was smiting him, although he didn’t know it, could 
not help acting more or less like a bear with a sore 
head. 

I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation,” he said, 
upon my word I shouldn’t, did I not know that you 
would have Judy to keep you company. You know 
I haven’t that passion for children you have, 
and ” 

The door was closed behind the two. 

Don’t say any more,” said Hilda, in a frightened 
sort of voice. 1 told you I was glad that you were 
to have the pleasure. Now which bag will you take ? 
Will the small Gladstone be large enough? ” 

Ten minutes later Quentyns had left the house in 
a hansom, and Hilda went up to Judy’s room. 

** Come downstairs, darling,” she said, we are to 
have another long evening all to ourselves. What a 
good thing I’ve got my sweet little sister to stay at 


148 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


home with me. Judy, this was to be a festive night, 
and I had quite a festive dinner prepared. Suppose 
we keep the occasion, although we are only to be by 
ourselves. You shall dine with me to-night, Judy, 
and weTl both dress for dinner. You shall wear 
white, for you look so sweet in white, and 1^11 do the 
same.’^ 

“ Have you got the old India-muslin dress that you 
used to wear at the rectory before — before there was 
a Jasper? ” said Judy, in a queer, steady kind of lit- 
tle voice. If you have that old India-muslin that 
father loved and Aunt Marjorie loved, and that Babs 
and I used always to say you looked like an angel in, 
will you put it on to-night, Hilda? — will you wear 
that dress once again ? 

What a queer thing,’’ replied Hilda ; I never 
threw the old muslin away. I think I can poke it 
out of some depths somewhere ; and it is so soft that 
if I shake it out and hang it up for about half an 
hour it will be presentable. Y^ou funny Judy, why 
do you wish to see me in that dress ? ” 

^^Y'ou were all mine when you wore that dress 
last,” said Judy. 

I am always yours, my dearest. But don’t let 
us talk sentiment, let us make ourselves smart, and 
let us come downstairs and be happy. We’ll im- 
agine that we are at a very gay party; heaps and 
heaps of other people in the room, but we two, as is 
sometimes the case, are more or less alone in the 
crowd. We are so completely one that other people 
scarcely affect us. We can talk together, and whis- 
per old secrets about the garden, and Babs, and the 
animals, and the organ in the church, and the funny 
chorister-boy who would never sing in tune; we can 
talk of all these things, although there are throngs 
and throngs around us, for in a crowd those who 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


149 


love each other often find the best sort of solitude. 
Come down, J udy, come down, and let’s be happy ! ” 
How fiushed you are, Hilda ; are you well ? ” 
Y^es; I never felt better.” 

You look awfully pretty ; you look quite lovely.” 
What a dear little flatterer you are. Does it 
really matter whether I look pretty or not? Aunt 
Marjorie would scold you, child, for praising my 
looks to my face; she would say you were encourag- 
ing vanity.” 

‘‘And I should tell her to her face that I was 
not,” answered j udy stoutly. “ It’s right to look 
beautiful; it’s copying the flowers. NTow run and 
put on your India-muslin dress, Hilda.” 

Hilda left the room, and half an hour later the 
two sisters met in the little drawing-room. There 
were fresh flowers in the vases; and a great bowl of 
primroses, which Aunt Marjorie had sent from the 
rectory was placed on the little table in the square 
bay window. 

Judy in her white dress stood near the flowers. 
She took up one, and in an absent sort of fashion 
pulled it to pieces. Susan announced dinner, and 
the sisters dined together in great state, and with 
apparent enjoyment. Hilda joked about everything, 
and Judy, catching up her spirit, did likewise. 

“Let us imagine, just for to-night, that I am 
grown-up,” she said; “treat me as if I were your 
grown sister — not your little sister — Hilda.” 

Hilda felt in the humor to comply with any re- 
quest Judy made. 

“We will have our coffee in the drawing-room,” 
she said. “Black coffee for me, please, Susan, but 
bring in a little jug of cream for Miss Judy’s — 
How, dearest,” turning to the child, “don’t forget 
that the play is going on; we have dined out with 


150 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


numbers, oh, numbers of guests, and now we are in 
the large assembly-room, alone in the crowd, happy 
because we are together/’ 

Judy had thrown herself back into a deep arm- 
chair in the little drawing-room while Hilda was 
speaking; her eyes had a sort of starry radiance 
about them, her cheeks were slightly flushed, her 
brown hair was thrown back from her white brow. 

Hilda moved about the room; she was restless 
notwithstanding the enforced calm she was putting 
upon herself. Judy smiled when Hilda spoke, but 
in her heart certain words kept repeating themselves 
— ^they had repeated themselves like a sort of mourn- 
ful echo in that poor little heart all day. 

All the moments you are away from me are long 
and wearisome,” Hilda had said to her husband. 
‘‘ All the moments.” 

And then he had said to her: 

You don’t find three trumpery. I wish I didn’t ! ” 

So I’m the trumpery,” thought Judy to herself. 
^^I’m three. And all the moments while Hilda is 
away from Jasper are long and wearisome. Poor 
Hilda! poor darling! how well she hid it all from 
me; how good, how very good she has been to me; 
but I’m glad I know. It was a lucky, a very lucky 
thing that the door of the breakfast-room was slightly 
open this morning, and so 1 was able to hear Jasper’s 
words.” 

How silent you are, dearest,” said Hilda, looking 
at the child. 

beg your pardon,” said Judy, lumping up. 

I was thinking.” 

'‘Think aloud then, sweet. Let me share your 
pretty thoughts.” 

" But they are not pretty, Hilda ; and I think I’d 
rather no one shared them. Now let us talk about 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 151 

old times — about the dear old times before there was 
a Jasper.” 

‘‘Judy,” said Hilda, “there is just one thing I 
should like to say to you. Even if it gives you 
pain, I ought to remind you, my darling, that Jas- 
per is my husband; that I love him; oh! Judy, 
Judy, my heart aches with love to him. My heart 
aches because I love my husband so much.” 

Judy clinched her hands; a great wave of crim- 
son swept over her face. Hild had hidden her own 
face in her hands, and did not notice the child’s agi- 
tation. Presently the little sister’s hand softly 
touched her forehead. 

“And you’re lonely to-night, poor Hilda, because 
your J asper is away ? ” 

“ Yes, J udy, it’s true. I’m afraid even to tell you 
how lonely I am.” 

“And you’ve been trying to seem cheerful, just 
to please me.” 

“ And to please myself too,” said Hilda, starting 
up and wiping the tears from her eyes. “ There, 
we won’t talk about it any more; we’ll go on pre- 
tending that we are having an awfully jolly time.” 

“You’re very brave, Hilda,” said Judy; “and 
when people are brave things generally come right. 
Now, may I sit on your knee, just as if I were a 
baby instead of a tall girl with long legs ? I wouldn’t 
make you unhappy, Hilda darling. When there’s an 
inevitable I must face it ; I must and you will see that 
1 will. Jack the Giant Killer shan’t beat me over 
difficulties when I’ve made up my mind.” 

“ Judy, your face is flushed, and your eyes are too 
bright ; that strong coffee was bad for you — you won’t 
sleep to-night.” 

“ I dare say I shan’t sleep ; but now let us talk of 
old times,” 


152 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Only for a few moments, dear ; you look so ex- 
cited that I shall not rest until I see you safely in 
bed.” 

Judy laughed and declared stoutly that she never 
felt better. 

Half an hour afterward she went up to her pretty 
little bedroom, Hilda promising to follow her in 
about a quarter of an hour. 

When the elder sister entered the room she found 
J udy standing by her bed in her frilled nightdress. 

‘^You will get cold, love — do get into bed,” said 
Hilda. 

I want to say my prayers to you, Hilda, if you 
don’t mind,” said Judy, ^‘just as I used when I 
was a very little girl.” 

Of course, darling, if you wish it.” 

Hilda sat down, and the little sister knelt at her 
knee. 

The old baby prayers were said aloud; but sud- 
denly, in the midst of them, Judy bent her head 
and murmured something which Hilda could not 
hear. 

She jumped up a moment later and put her arms 
round her sister’s neck. 

^'You won’t be lonely long, Hilda,” she said. 
‘^It will be all right; you’ll see it will be as right 
as possible. I am glad you are fond of Jasper. I 
am really, really, awfully glad.” 

Good-night, my darling,” said Hilda, kissing her. 
She went out of the room with tears in her eyes. 

Poor little J udy, how little she knows,” thought 
the elder sister; ^^how very little she knows what a 
cloud there is between Jasper and me. Oh, if it 
goes on much longer, I think my heart will break ! ” 

In the meantime, in her pretty white bed, Judy 
was murmuring an old text to herself ; 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


153 

that taketh not up his cross and followeth 
after Me, cannot be My disciple.’^ 

Once, long ago, the rector had explained this text, 
or rather given a shadow of its meaning to the child. 

^‘Followeth after Me,’^ she murmured; and a vis- 
ion came to her of One who, in the great cause of 
Love, had taken up His cross, even to death. 

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Judy’s secret. 

Be strong to hope, oh, heart! 

Though day is bright. 

The stars can only shine 
In the dark night. 

Be strong, oh heart of mine. 

Look toward the light! 

— Adelaide Pboctob. 

The next morning J udy was down specially early 
to breakfast. 

Her cheeks were slightly more flushed than usual, 
and her eyes, to any one who watched them closely, 
had a determined, almost hard, expression in them. 
Hilda, however, was too much occupied with her own 
sad thoughts to take any special notice of the child. 

^‘You look well, Judy,” she said, giving a quick 
glance at her. Now come to breakfast, dear, I’ve 
a good deal to do afterward.” 

Are you going out, Hilda ? ” asked Judy. 

^‘No, I’m going to be busy all the morning over 
my accounts; they’ve got into the most disgraceful 


154 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


muddle, and I want to put them straight. I shall 
be in the drawing-room, for I keep all my house- 
hold books in the davenport there. I mean to give 
you a holiday, Judy, but perhaps you won^t mind 
reading some of your history to yourself, and doing 
a few sums this morning.’^ 

Of course not,” said Judy brightly. Shall I 
make you some toast, Hilda? this in the toast-rack 
is so soft and flabby — do let me, Hilda.” 

If you like, dear, you may. It is lucky there is 
a fire, but I must tell cook to discontinue them, the 
weather is getting so warm.” 

Judy was an adept at making toast, and it was an 
old fashion at the rectory that Hilda’s toast should 
be made by her, on those blissful red-letter days when 
the elder sister had tea with the little ones in the 
nursery. 

Judy wondered as she delicately browned that 
toast, and scorched her own little cheeks, if Hilda 
would remember the old days, and the toast which 
she used to make her; but Mrs. Quentyns seemed 
to be in a sort of brown study that morning, and 
thanked the child absently when the crisp hot toast 
was put on her plate. 

J asper will be home quite early to-day, won’t he, 
Hilda?” inquired Judy. 

I don’t know, Judy — yes, I suppose so.” 

‘‘I’m sure he’ll be home early,” repeated Judy 
with confidence ; “ perhaps he’ll take you to the play 
to-night, and perhaps you’ll be awfully happy.” 

“ Oh, don’t talk about it, Judy,” said Hilda, in 
a weary voice ; “ we must all make up our minds to 
face the fact that there’s a great deal more than 
mere happiness in the world. What is happiness? 
It’s only a small part of life.” 

“I don’t think it is going to be a small part of 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. I55 

your life, Hilda ; but now I’m not going to idle you 
any more, for you want to get to your accounts.” 

J udy ran out of the room. As she was going slowly 
upstairs she paused once to say softly to herself: 

It’s all happening beautifully, I ought to be glad. 
Of course I am glad. ‘ He that taketh not up his 
cross.’ I’m glad that text keeps running in my head 
— it makes me so nice and strong.” 

Susan was doing out Judy’s room when the little 
girl ran into it. Judy was fond of Susan, and Susan 
of her, and the girl stopped her work now to listen 
to the child’s eager words. 

Susan, do you think Mrs. Quentyns would let 
you come out with me for a little this morning, for 
about an hour or an hour and a half ? ” 

Well, miss,” said Susan, it ain’t Monday which 
is the day to get ready for the laundry, nor yet Wed- 
nesday, when I turns out the drawing-room, nor Fri- 
day, which is silver day — there’s nothing special for 
Thursday ; I should think I could go with you, Miss 
Judy, and it will be a treat to take you about. Is 
it Madame Tussaud’s you has a hankerin’ for, 
miss ? ” 

Ho, no, Susan, I’m not going to any exhibition ; 
it’s a secret — I’ll tell you when we’re out.” 

“ The Dore Gallery, perhaps ? ” suggested Susan. 

'^Ho, it’s nothing of that sort; I’ll tell you when 
we’re out.” 

Very well, miss. I’m proud to be at your service 
whatever it is.” 

I’ll run down now and ask my sister if you may 
come with me, Susan.” 

Judy threw her arms round Hilda as she was com- 
ing up from the kitchen premises. 

‘‘ Plilda, the day is so fine ! ” 

‘‘No, Judy, you mustn’t tempt me to go out, I 


156 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


really have to get those accounts straight, they quite 
weigh on my mind/’ 

So you shall, Hilda darling ; but I was wonder- 
ing if after I’ve read history and done my sums, 
and a little bit of writing I want to get through, if 
you’d let Susan — if you’d let Susan take me out.” 

Susan ! ” repeated Hilda, but I can go with you 
myself this afternoon.” 

I know, only I do so want a run on this fine 
morning, and Susan says it’s not laundry day, nor 
drawing-room day, nor silver day; it’s Thursday, 
which is nothing special; she can come. May she, 
Hilda? — do say yes.” 

It’s not like you, Judy,” said Hilda, to be in 
this impatient state. I would rather you did not 
propose plans to the servants without first consult- 
ing me, darling, it rather puts them out of their 
place; but as you have done it, and as you are the 
best of dear little girls, I suppose I must say ^ yes ’ 
on this occasion. If Susan hurries with her work, 
she may take you out; but of course you won’t be 
very long, will you ? ” 

To this question Judy made no reply. She gave 
Hilda a tight clasp and a fierce kiss, « and rushed 
away. 

Susan, you’re to hurry with your work, for you 
may come,” she shouted, almost boisterously, to the 
parlor maid, and then she ran down to the dining- 
room and shut the door behind her. 

“ It’s happening beautifully,” she murmured 
again; ^^how lucky that I never spent godmother’s 
sovereign. And now to write my letter to Hilda. 
I’m not going to waste my time crying, there’ll be 
time enough for that by and by — ^that’s if I want to 
cry, perhaps I shan’t. When I think of how very 
happy Hilda will be, perhaps my heart will sing. 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


157 


But now for the letter — Hilda mustn’t find it too 
soon; I’ll put it under her pincushion, then per- 
haps she won’t see it for some hours after I’ve gone, 
but now I must write it.” 

Judy took out her own little blotting-book, placed 
a sheet of paper before her, and began laboriously, 
with little fingers which rapidly got ink-stained, to 
put a few words on the paper. 

Darling Hilda : You’ll be s’prised when you 
get this. I’m going home. I’m quite well now, and 
I’m not going to fret, but I’m going to be really 
happy. Good-by, Hilda ; I love you awfully. 

^^Your Judy.” 

This little note was put into an envelope, and 
sealed with some precious red wax, and before she 
left the house Judy found an opportunity to put it 
under Hilda’s pincushion. 

It doesn’t tell her a bit what I think, nor what 
I feel,” murmured the poor child. ^‘But it’s best 
for her just to suppose that I want to go home. 
She’ll be happy all the sooner if she thinks that.” 

Susan was rather elated at escaping housework, 
and at being allowed to go out so early in the morn- 
ing. She was especially fond of Judy, and would 
do anything in the world for her. Now, therefore, 
principally on Judy’s account, but also in the hope 
that the baker might happen to see her as she passed 
his shop, she put on her very smartest hat and her 
best jacket, and waited in the hall for Judy’s ap- 
pearance. 

Hilda came out of the drawing-room to see the two 
4s they went off. 

You had better take an omnibus, and get out at 
Kensington Gardens,” she said to the maid. "I 


158 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


shall expect you back in time to get lunch ready, 
Susan. Judy, pet, give me a kiss before you go.” 

Judy had lost her roses now; her face was pale, 
and there were dark shadows under her big eyes. Her 
little voice, however, had a very stout, determined 
tone about it. 

Good-by, Hilda,” she said ; one kiss — two, three 
kisses, Hilda ; it is good of you to let us out — and we 
are going to be so jolly. Good-by, darling Hilda.” 

Good-by, Judy,” said Hilda. 

She kissed the child, but in a preoccupied man- 
ner — the cloud which weighed on her heart was op- 
pressing her, and dulling her usually keen percep- 
tions where Judy was concerned. 

It’s all the better,” thought the little girl, it’s 
easier to say good-by when she’s not extra loving.” 

Hilda went back to her accounts, and Judy and 
Susan walked down the terrace, and turning the cor- 
ner were lost to view. 

They had gone on a little way, and Susan was 
about to hail a passing omnibus, when Judy sud- 
denly put her hand on the servant’s arm, and said : 

Susan, I am going to tell you the secret now, 
you’ll be sure to keep it ? ” 

‘^Well, of course, miss. I’ll do my best — I hope 
I ain’t one of the blabbing sort.” 

don’t think you are, Susan — you look as if a 
person could trust you. I’m going to trust you with a 
most important thing.” 

^‘Very well, miss — I’ll be proud, I’m sure; but 
hadn’t we better stop that ’bus — there’s the conductor 
looking at us.” 

‘'Does that ’bus go in the direction of Waterloo 
Station ? ” asked J udy. 

“Waterloo — bless you. Miss Judy — I don’t know 
whether it do or not. I don’t s’pose so for a quarter 


A itoung mutineer. 


m 

of a minute. Waterloo is miles from here—that I 
do know. But it’s nothing to us where Waterloo is, 
miss, it’s to Kensington Gardens we’re going, and the 
’bus has gone on now, so there’s no good our worrying 
ourselves about it. Another will |)ass us in a minute. 
There are plenty half empty at this hour of the day.” 

wish you would stop talking, Susan, and let 
me explain what I mean,” said Judy, almost fretfully. 
^^It’s to Waterloo I want to go, not to Kensington 
Gardens. Do you hear me — do you understand what 
I’m saying ? ” 

suppose you’re joking me. Miss Judy. My 
missis said we were to go to Kensington Gardens.” 

Please, Susan, stop for a minute. I want to say 
something very important. I am going home. That’s 
the secret. I am going home to Aunt Marjorie, and 
to father, and my little sister Babs, and the way 
home is by Waterloo, so I must get there. Now do 
you understand? That’s the secret — I am going 
home to-day.” 

Judy’s face was so pale, and her words so intensely 
earnest, that Susan saw at last that the secret was no 
joking matter, but something real and hard to bear. 

Now I wonder what the little dear is up to,” she 
said under her breath. 

^^You know. Miss Judy, pet,” she replied aloud 
in as soothing a voice as she could command, that 
you don’t really mean to run away like that — for it 
is running away to go back to your home and never 
say a word to Mrs. Quentyns, and she so wrapped up 
in you, and your room furnished so prettily and all.” 

Judy had to gulp down a sob before she answered 
Susan. 

I didn’t expect you to understand me,” she said 
with a dignity which made a deep impression on the 
maid. " I’m not running away, and I’m doing right, 


160 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


not wrong. You don’t suppose it’s always very pleas- 
ant to do right, but sometimes one can’t think about 
what’s pleasant. I wouldn’t have asked you to help 
me at all, Susan, but I don’t know how to get to 
Waterloo Station. Of course I came from there with 
my sister, but I didn’t notice the road we took, nor 
anything about it. I know we were a long time in a 
cab, so I suppose the station is a good way from 
Philippa Terrace. What you have got to do now, 
Susan, is to obey me and not to ask any questions. I 
really know what I’m about, and I promise that you 
shan’t get into any trouble.” 

But to Judy’s surprise Susan was firm. 

I won’t have hand nor part in the matter,” she 
said. I was told to take you to Kensington Gar- 
dens, miss, and it’s there we’ve got to go, or we’ll 
turn round and go back to Philippa Terrace.” 

For a moment or two Judy felt afraid that all her 
plans were in jeopardy. She might of course call a 
cab on her own account, and trust the driver to take 
her safely to her destination ; but brave as she was, she 
had scarcely courage for this extreme step; besides, 
the driver of the hansom might take it into his head 
to listen to Susan’s strong objections, and even if he 
did obey Judy, Susan would go back to Philippa 
Terrace and tell Hilda everything, and then Hilda 
would follow Judy to Waterloo, and prevent her 
going home at all. 

The strongest feeling in the child’s mind was a 
desire to be safe back in the rectory before Hilda 
knew anything about her determination. 

^‘Then she can’t do anything,” thought Judy. 

She’ll have nothing for it but to make herself quite 
happy with Jasper again.” 

Suddenly an idea came to her. 

“ I won’t argue with you any more, Susan,” she 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


161 


said. I suppose you think you are doing right, and 
if you do, of course I can’t expect you to act in any 
other way. If you knew everything that is in my 
heart, I am quite sure you would help me; but as 
you don’t, I must think of something else. You know 
Mr. Eivers, don’t you — the gentleman who dined at 
Philippa Terrace two nights ago ? ” 

Yes, miss, of course.” 

My sister and I took lunch with him yester- 
day,” continued J udy. He is a very nice gentle- 
man : he’s a great friend of Mr. Quentyns.” 

Oh, yes, miss, I’m aware,” replied the maid. 

‘^He lives in chambers,” continued Judy. ^'I 
don’t in the least know what chambers means; but 
he asked me to go and see him some day and have 
lunch with him. He wrote his address on a piece 
of paper and gave it to me and I have it in my 
purse. My sister said I might certainly lunch with 
Mr. Rivers. How, Susan, I intend to go to him 
to-day. So please call a hansom, and I shall drive 
there at once. You can come or not as you please. 
If you prefer it you can go home; but of course I’d 
rather you came with me.” 

Susan deliberated. Certainly Miss Judy was in 
a very queer condition, and it would be as much as 
her place was worth to take her to Waterloo; but to 
drive with her to the chambers of that nice gentle- 
man who was, she knew, one of her master’s great- 
est friends, seemed a shifting of responsibility which 
was quite a way out of the dilemma, for not for 
worlds would Susan do anything really to hurt the 
child’s feelings. 

^^All right,” she said after a pause; ‘^even that 
seems queer enough, but Mr. Rivers can explain mat- 
ters himself to my missis. Here’s a nice ’ansora with 
a steady horse. Stop, driver, please stop ! Draw up 


162 


A YOtJNG MtJtlNEEtl. 


here by the lamp-post. Now, miss, shall I get in first 
and give you a hand ? 

No, Susan; I can get into a hansom without any 
one helping me.’^ 

Drive to No. 10 Johnson’s Court, Lincoln’s Inn 
Fileds,” said Judy, in a clear voice to the man; and 
then she and Susan found themselves bowling away 
further and further from West Kensington, from 
Judy’s pretty bedroom, from Hilda and her 
love. 

In an incredibly short space of time they arrived 
at their destination; the driver pulled up his horse 
at No. 10 Johnson’s Court with an esprit which Judy 
would have much admired had her thoughts been less 
preoccupied. 

She jumped out with alacrity, declining Susan’s 
assistance, and asked the man what his fare was. 
He named a sum which Susan took into her head to 
consider exorbitant, and which she loudly objected 
to Judy’s paying; but the little girl gave it without 
a moment’s hesitation, and the next instant was run- 
ning up the stairs to Kivers’ chambers. 

What might have happened had that gentleman 
been out no one can say ; J udy’s heroic impulse might 
after all have come to nothing, and Jasper might still 
have had to complain of that three which means 
trumpery invading his house ; but it so happened that 
Eivers was in, and, busy man that he was, compara- 
tively disengaged. When Judy inquired for him he 
was standing in his clerk’s room giving some direc- 
tions. At the sound of her voice he looked up, and 
with a start and smile of delight came forward to 
welcome her. 

I am very glad to see you,” he said ; how kind 
of you to remember your promise.” 

Then seeing by her face that Judy’s poor little 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 163 

lieart was very full he took her into his private room, 
and desired Susan to wait in the clerk’s room. 

“Now, Jack the Giant Killer, what is it?” said 
Rivers ; “ what’s the matter ? ” 

“ I told you,” said J udy ; “ I told you, yesterday, 
that perhaps I was going to stop being a mutineer. 
Well, I have stopped. I thought you’d like to know.” 

“ So I do, J udy,” said Rivers. “ I am proud to 
be acquainted with a little girl who has such immense 
control over herself. I should like to hear how you 
have contrived to get out of the state of rebellion into 
the state of submission. I know of course that you 
have been killing a giant, but I am interested in the 
process.” 

“ I’m killing the giant by going home,” said Judy, 
standing very erect by Rivers’ table, and pushing back 
her shady hat from her white forehead. “ I am going 
home, back to Little Staunton rectory. I see what 
you mean, that it’s better — better for Jasper and 
Hilda, to be without — without me. I pretended not 
to understand you the other night, but I don’t pre- 
tend any longer now; and yesterday evening, when 
Hilda and I were all alone, for Jasper had gone away 
down to Richmond, I — I made up my mind. Hilda 
doesn’t know anything about it.” 

“Sit down, Judy,” said Rivers. “I cannot tell 
you how I respect you.” 

“I’d rather stand, please,” said Judy. “Hilda 
doesn’t know,” she continued, “ and she mustn’t know 
until I am safe at Little Staunton’s rectory. 
Susan — you know Susan, she’s Hilda’s parlor- 
maid; well, Susan came out with me this morning, 
and I coaxed her very hard to take me to Waterloo, 
but she refused. I don’t quite know how to get 
there by myself, so now I want to know if you will 
take me ? ” 


m 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Certainly I will,” said Rivers ; what is more, 
1^11 go with you to the rectory. I have nothing special 
to do to-day, and it will be quite a pleasure to spend a 
little time in your company. Do you know anything 
about the trains, and what is the name of the station 
we have to go to ? ” 

Judy named the one nearest to the rectory. 

^^You had better sit down for a moment,” pur- 
sued Rivers. I have an ^ A B C ’ here, so I can 
tell you in a moment which is the best train to take. 
Now, what is the matter?” 

Only, Mr. Rivers, Hilda must not know any- 
thing — anything about it until I am safe home. Can 
this be managed? ” 

I have very little doubt that it can. I shall go 
out now and speak to Susan and send her away. 
Thank you, J udy, for coming to me ; I would do any- 
thing for you, because you are brave, and I respect 
and admire all brave people.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

GIANT-KILLER. 

And the prince, seeing that it was of no use to remon- 
strate, bowed and retired. 

— The Golden Branch. 

Susan came home and told her mistress that Judy 
was spending the day with Mr. Rivers. 

^^What an extraordinary thing for the child to 
do,” said Hilda. 

She said, ma’am, that Mr. Rivers asked her to 
lunch, and that you knew about it.” 


A YOtTNG MUTINEER. 


165 


^^Yes; but why did she not say something to me 
when she was going out ? It is so unlike Miss Judy 
to keep a thing of that sort to herself.^^ 

Susan made no reply. She was no longer re- 
sponsible, and was only too anxious not to betray 
the child. 

^^Mr. Rivers says heTl take the best care of her, 
ma’am, she said, after a pause. 

‘^Well, go and take off your hat, Susan, and lay 
the lunch,” said Hilda, feeling still more puzzled, 
but not caring to pursue her inquiries any further. 

She had a sense of aggrievement and a feeling of 
added loneliness as she sat down to her solitary lunch. 
She missed Judy, and wondered at her sudden want 
of confidence; but soon the deeper trouble which Jas- 
per’s conduct had caused returned to trouble her, and 
she forgot her little sister in the sadness of her 
thoughts. 

She spent a long and very lonely afternoon in- 
doors, for she had not the heart to go out, and be- 
sides, she expected J udy home every minute. 

She thought it likely that Rivers would take her 
somewhere after lunch, but surely he would bring her 
back to Philippa Terrace in time for tea. Hilda or- 
dered some cakes which she knew were special favor- 
ites of Judy’s, to be ready for this meal; and then 
she sat in her pretty little drawing-room, and tried 
to divert her thoughts over the pages of the latest 
novel which had arrived from Mudie’s. 

It was either not specially interesting, or Hilda 
found it difficult to concentrate her attention. She 
flung the book on her knee, and sat absorbed in 
what Judy and Babs called a brown study. She was 
startled out of her meditations by Susan bringing 
in the tea-tray and the little kettle and spirit- 
lamp. 


M 


A young MUf INfillfi. 


‘^Did Mr. Eivers say when he would bring Miss 
Judy home?’’ she asked of the maid. 

Susan colored and hesitated slightly in her reply. 

“ No, ma’am; he said nothing at all about coming 
home,” she answered. 

Hilda noticed her hesitation, but did not wish to 
question her further. After the servant left the room, 
however, she began for the first time to feel both im- 
patient and uneasy with regard to her little sister. 

If Judy is not here by six o’clock,” she said to 
herself, I will go to Lincoln’s Inn Fields in search 
of her. How extraordinarily impatient she was to 
go out this morning; and how very odd of her to 
insist on going to Mr. Eivers’, and to say nothing 
at all to me about it; and then how queer — how 
more than queer — her not having yet returned. My 
sweet little Judy, the most thoughtful child who ever 
breathed, it is unlike her to cause me anxiety of this 
sort.” 

Hilda did not care for the social little meal which 
was generally so lively when Judy was present. Im- 
mediately afterward she ran upstairs to put on her 
bonnet and jacket; and as she was going out, left a 
message with Susan. 

If Miss Judy and Mr. Eivers come,” she said, 

please say that I have gone to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 
as I felt anxious about the child being so long away.” 

^^Yes, ma’am,” said the servant. 

Whistle for a hansom for me, please, Susan.” 

Susan did so; and half an hour afterward Hilda 
was making inquiries at Eivers’ chambers with re- 
gard to his whereabouts. The clerks there could give 
her no definite information. Mr. Eivers had gone 
out with a little lady soon after twelve o’clock, and 
had told them not to expect him back that day. 

‘‘I shall find Judy at Philippa Terrace when I go 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


167 


home,” thought Mrs. Quentyns. ‘^It was thought- 
less of her not to tell me how long she would be out 
— it was wonderfully unlike her. Still, of course, 
she will be at home now.” 

But when Hilda returned no Judy was there to 
greet her; but her husband’s face was seen looking 
somewhat impatiently out of the drawing-room win- 
dow. He came at once to help his wife out of the 
cab, and entered the house with her. 

Where were you ? ” he asked. It is nearly time 
for dinner.” 

won’t be a moment getting dressed, Jasper; 
but — but — I am anxious about Judy.” 

Quentyns had meant to be specially nice and kind 
to Hilda after his evening’s pleasure, but he felt it 
impossible now to keep the glib, sarcastic words 
back. 

I might have known when I saw that fretful look 
on your face that Judy was the cause. How, what is 
her latest transgression ? ” 

Oh, there is a telegraph boy,” said Hilda eagerly. 

What — ^what — oh, is there anything wrong ? ” 

She rushed to the hall door herself, before Jasper 
could prevent her. Susan, coming into the hall to 
answer the imperative double knock, was sent back 
to the kitchen regions, in a cross voice, by her 
master. 

Really, Hilda,” began Quentyns, ^^your impet- 
uosity is most undignified. I must say that these 
kinds of scenes are — Now, what is the matter, my 
love — tears again. A coming home of this sort is not 
the most chereful sort of thing, you must allow.” 

Oh, Jasper, Jasper, I’m not even listening to 
you,” said poor Hilda. ^^What can be the matter? 
what can be wrong? Here is a telegram from Mr. 
Bivers. He says — see what he says.” 


168 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


^''Little Staunton Rectory. Have brought Judy 
home. Will call and see you soon after ten this 
evening. Rivers 

Rivers ! ” repeated Jasper. 

His voice grew thoughtful ; he did not like Rivers, 
of all men, to be mixed up in his domestic affairs. 
Rivers, at least, must keep him on a pedestal, and 
know nothing of his weaknesses — of that infirmity 
of temper which he struggled against, and yet, in 
Judy^s presence, could not conquer. He forgot all 
about Judy herself in his wonder as to how Rivers 
had got mixed up in the matter. 

Hilda had seated herself on the sofa, and, still 
holding the open telegram in her hand, was trying 
furtively to wipe away her fast-falling tears. 

I wish you^d stop crying, Hilda,” said her hus- 
band. There’s nothing to alarm you in this 
telegram — nothing whatever. If Judy is with a 
man like Tom Rivers, she’s as safe as child can 
be.” 

^'But she has gone home, Jasper; she has gone 
home to the rectory, without even telling me.” 

‘‘ Well, my dear, it’s impossible for me to explain 
away the vagaries of that most eccentric child. I 
presume, however, that Rivers has a key to the mys- 
tery, and as he says he will call here after ten 
o’clock, we shall know all about it then. No amount 
of discussion can explain it in advance. So, Hilda, 
perhaps you will go upstairs and get ready for dinner. 
I’m frightfully hungry.” 

Hilda rose wearily and left the room at once. 

^^I think I can guess something — just something 
of what it means,” she said to herself. ‘^My little 
Judy — my brave little Judy ! ” 

Judy’s letter was lying hidden all this time under 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


169 


the large pincushion on Hilda’s dressing-table, but 
as it was not seen, its contents, w^hich would have ex- 
plained a good deal, were of course not known. 

The dinner which followed this unhappy begin- 
ning of the evening was as dismal and constrained as 
if poor trumpery ” were still present. 

Quentyns, like most men who work hard all day, 
was particular about this meal, and to-night of all 
nights cook had not sent up the soup to his satis- 
faction, nor the entree seasoned to his taste. It was 
all one to Hilda just now what she ate, but Quen- 
tyns pushed his plate impatiently away, and kept 
on referring to the excellent dinner he had had the 
night before at the Star and Garter. He spoke of his 
evening as delightful, and of the house of the new 
friend where he had slept as altogether irreproach- 
able. 

Hilda felt that he was talking at her all the time, 
but she had not the heart to reply to him. The dis- 
mal little meal came to a mournful end, and the two 
w^ent into the drawing-room to wait for Eivers’ ar- 
rival. 

Hilda took up a handkerchief she was embroider- 
ing for Judy, and took special pleasure in putting 
in new and exquisite stitches as her thoughts cen- 
tered themselves in dull wonder and pain round the 
child. Quentyns became absorbed in the contents 
of a novel. He read for half an hour — he was by 
no means in a good humor, and now and then his 
eyes were raised to look over the top of the book at 
his wife. There was a patient sort of suffering about 
her which irritated him a good bit, as he could see 
no possible reason to account for it. He asked her 
one or two questions, which she answered in an ab- 
stracted manner. 

No, he certainly had not bargained for this sort 


170 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


of thing when he married. Hilda was not onl}^ pretty, 
but she could be, when she liked, sufficiently intel- 
lectual to satisfy his requirements. He was fastid- 
ious and had peculiar views with regard to women. 
He hated the so-called clever woman, but at the 
same time he despised the stupid ones. To please him 
a woman must have tact — she must quickly under- 
stand his many moods. She must sympathize when 
he demanded sympathy, and when he showed by his 
manner that he wished to be left alone, she must re- 
spect his desires. Hitherto, Hilda had abundantly 
fulfilled his expectations. If Judy had not been in 
the house, all that he had ever dreamed of in his mar- 
ried life would have come to pass. But to-night, al- 
though Judy was not there to intermeddle, Quentyns 
felt that for all the good his wife was doing him he 
might as well be a bachelor at his club. 

My dear,’^ he said with some impatience, and 
forgetting himself not a little, ‘‘do you know that 
you have made precisely the same remark now five 
times ? I did not quarrel with its brilliancy the first 
time I heard it, but on the fifth occasion I will own 
that it gave me a certain sense of ennui. As I see 
that your thoughts are miles away, I’ll just run round 
to the club for a bit and find out if there is anything 
going on.” 

Hilda raised her eyes in some surprise. A cer- 
tain expression in them seemed to expostulate with 
Jasper, but her lips said nothing; and just at that 
moment a hansom was heard to bowl up rapidly and 
stop with a quick jerk at the door. A moment later 
Rivers entered the drawing-room. He came up at 
once to Hilda with the air of a man who has a mes- 
sage to deliver. 

“Judy hopes you got her note long ere this, Mrs. 
Quentyns,” 


A If 1 

' Her note — no ; I have not received any/’ replied 
Hilda. 

She wrote to you this morning, and put the note 
under the pincushion in your room.” 

‘^How romantic and Judy-like,” said Quentyns 
suddenly. Quite the correct thing, according to 
the old-fashioned novels. When the heroine elopes 
she always leaves a note under the pincushion.” 

^^How do you do, Jasper? I did not notice you 
until this moment,” said Rivers. He gave the other 
man a sharp glance, which suddenly made him feel 
queer and small. The only thing old-fashioned that 
I notice about Judy,’^ he said, is her noble unselfisli- 
ness. She has gone home because — because — I think 
you can both guess why; an explanation would only 
be disagreeable. She begged me to tell you, Mrs. 
Quentyns, that she meant to be really perfectly happy 
at home, and she hoped you and Jasper would follow 
her example here. Poor little giant killer ! she slew 
an enormous giant to-day, and there are few people I 
respect as I do that dear little soul. I saw her safely 
to the rectory, as when she came to me, I thought 
it best to humor what was more a noble inspiration 
than a child’s whim. I will say good-night now.” 

Hilda scarcely said a word while Rivers was speak- 
ing. When he left the room, however, she stood still 
for an instant, listening intently. Jasper had gone 
out to see his friend into his hansom. Would he come 
back ? He did for a moment. 

Don’t sit up for me, Hilda,” he said ; and there 
was a tone in his voice which caused her heart to 
sink down low, very low indeed. 

She heard the door slam behind him, and then she 
knew that she was alone. The servants had gone to 
bed — ^to all intents and purposes she was absolutely 
alone in the silent house. 


m 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


So Judy’s sacrifice was in vain. Judy had thought, 
by absolutely sacrificing herself, that she could bring 
this husband and wife together. It was not to be. 

Hilda fell on her knees and buried her burning face 
in the sofa cushions. 

Oh, Judy, little Judy,” she sobbed. Oh, Judy, 
what shall I do? My pain is greater than I can 
bear.” 

She knelt in this position for a long time. Her 
little sister’s face was distinctly seen in her mental 
vision; Judy seemed surrounded by a sort of halo — 
but what of Jasper? Had all the love which united 
these two hearts vanished like a dream? Was he 
never coming back to her? Would he always misun- 
derstand her ? Oh, if she thought that, she would not 
stay with him — she would go back to the rectory and 
to Judy, and forget her golden dream and turn back 
again to the old life. For three months she would 
have been a wife. She would forget that time. She 
would own to Jasper that she had made a mistake. 
She would be Hilda Merton once more. Alas ! alas ! 
that could not be. Vows and ceremonies tied her. 
She had stood beside the altar and given herself away. 
There was no going back on that step. Jasper was 
not the Jasper of her dreams. He must have a small 
mind not to understand Judy, and she had married 
him because she thought his mind so big and his heart 
so great. After all, Judy was far greater than Jas- 
per. 

‘^My little Judy,” she murmured again, and then 
she sank down a pitiable, weak, inconsolable figure 
on the hearthrug close to the expiring fire. She 
thought over the scenes of the last night and longed 
to have them back again. 

‘^If Judy’s arms were round me I should not 
feel so lonely,” she murmured. Oh, Jasper, how: 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


173 


can you turn from me? How can you fail to under- 
stand that my heart at least is big enough to love both 
Judy and you? ” 

The lamp burned dimly and the fire went com- 
pletely out. Hilda presently fell asleep in the dark- 
ness, and now a moonbeam shining into the drawing- 
room and falling across her tired face made it look 
white and unearthly, almost like the face of a dead 
girl. It was in this attitude that Quent)ms found 
her when he came back somewhere between one and 
two o’clock. 

His conscience was reproaching him, for Rivers, 
an old friend, had not failed to give him a little spice 
of his mind; but he was just in that irritable condi- 
tion where repentance is almost impossible, and when 
self-abasement only leads a man into further wrong- 
doing. When he saw Hilda’s tired face he said to 
himself with a sort of laugh : 

If I don’t encourage this sort of thing I shall 
doubtless be more and more of a tyrant in the eyes 
of my good wife and that precious fastidious child 
and Rivers. Well, well, I cannot see the beauty of 
voluntary martyrdom. If Hilda weren’t quite such 
a goose she would have gone to bed two hours ago, in- 
stead of falling asleep here to the utter disregard of 
her health and personal appearance.” 

So Quentyns, looking cross and uninterested, shook 
his wife not too gently; spoke in a commonplace 
tone, out of which he purposely excluded every scrap 
of emotion, and asked her how much longer she 
wanted to sit up. 

Hilda stumbled to her feet without a word. She 
went upstairs and to bed, but although her husband 
quickly slept, she lay awake until the morning. 

She came down to breakfast, looking tired and 
fagged. There were black lines under her eyes, and 


174 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


when Quentyns asked her what was the matter, she 
not only owned to a headache, but burst into tears. 

When a man is thoroughly cross nothing irritates 
him more than tears on the part of his wife, and 
Quentyns now so far forgot himself as to rise hastily 
from the breakfast-table and leave the room, slam- 
ming the door behind him. He put im his head a 
moment later to nod to his wife and say good-by. 

If I’m late, don’t wait dinner for me,” he said, 
and then he left the house. Hilda had plenty of time 
to wipe her tears away in the deserted breakfast-room. 
The pain at her heart was almost greater than she 
could bear. Her gentle nature was stirred by what 
she considered gross injustice on the part of her hus- 
band. 

He does not care for me any more,” she mut- 
tered. I thought him great and brave and good. 
I know he is clever; I suppose he is great, and per- 
haps even good; but I am too small and too little 
for him — I fail to understand him, and he does not 
love me any more. Oh, if only little J udy had stayed 
with me I should not feel as broken-hearted as I do 
at present. What shall I do? How can I bear the 
terrible loneliness of my life ? ” 

At this moment Hilda’s dismal meditations were 
interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels, which 
not only came rattling down the quiet little street, 
but stopped at the hall door. She started up in a 
fright, pushed back her disordered hair from her 
flushed face, and the next moment found herself in 
the voluminous embrace of Jasper’s aunt. Lady Mal- 
vern. 

‘‘My dear,” exclaimed that good lady, “I must 
apologize for not looking you up sooner, but I have 
been particularly busy; for Cynthia, my eldest girl, 
has just got engaged and we are to have a wedding 


A YOtrNG MUTlNEfift. 


175 


in the autumn and all kinds of fuss; but I have not 
forgotten you, Hilda, and I have just come to carry 
you off for the day. It is a lovely day, and we are 
all going to drive to Richmond to picnic in the park. 
Run upstairs, my love, and put on your hat and 
gloves. I mean to carry you off immediately.^^ 

But J asper has just gone to town — he will be so 
sorry to have missed you,’^ said Hilda. 

Well, I suppose I can endure life even though I 
have missed Jasper,’’ said Lady Malvern with a laugh. 

In any case I want you, and also so does Cynthia. 
Cynthia has taken a great fancy to you, Hilda ; so run 
away and get ready. I will send a wire to your hus- 
band to come down and join us later on. There now, 
will that content you, you poor, devoted little soul ? ” 

Hilda smiled and a faint color came into her 
cheeks. 

Run up to your room, my dear,” said good-na- 
tured Lady Malvern. Be as quick as ever you can 
getting into the prettiest costume you have, for we 
are to be quite a gay party, I can tell you. Now run 
off, dear, run off, and pray do not keep me waiting a 
moment longer than you can help.” 

Lady Malvern was the sort of person who never 
could bear any one to say no ” to her, and Hilda 
at first unwillingly, but presently with a sort of ela- 
tion and even defiance which was altogether foreign 
to her gentle nature, prepared to make herself smart 
for her unexpected gayety. She went upstairs, pulled 
out one of her prettiest trousseau dresses, and with 
hands that trembled began to array herself in it. 

Meanwhile Lady Malvern sat perfectly still in the 
tiny little dining-room, with a somewhat troubled 
look on her good-tempered face. 

^^Now, what has Jasper been doing?” she said to 
herself. ‘^That sweet child doesn’t look happy. 


A YOUNG mutineer. 


1Y6 

Marks of tears round her eyes, flushed cheeks — ^very 
low spirits. Dear, dear, this will never do. Not more 
than three months from the wedding-day.” 

Lady Malvern had seen very little of her nephew 
since his marriage. She knew nothing, therefore, 
about Judy; but she was just that fussy, good-na- 
tured, hearty sort of body who could not bear any one 
with whom she came in contact to be miserable. 

I must set this right somehow or other,” she said 
to herself. Jasper doesn’t understand Hilda, and 
Hilda is wretched, and thinks, poor dear little goose, 
that the sun will never shine again, and that life is 
practically over for her. She does not know, how 
could she, poor darling, how many rubs married 
people have to live through, and how jolly and com- 
fortable they are notwithstanding them. Well, well, 
I am glad I called. I must set things right between 
this pair, whatever happens.” 

Lady Malvern little guessed, however, that she per- 
sonally was to have very little to do with smoothing 
the rumpled rose-leaves in Hilda’s and Jasper’s lives. 

When Mrs. Quentyns returned to the little dining- 
room the flush on her cheeks and the softened look 
in her sweet eyes but added to her beauty, and when 
she found herself bowling away through the pleasant 
spring air in her kind friend’s company, in spite of 
herself her spirits could not help rising. 

Lady Malvern had a house in Hans Place, and 
there Cynthia and two younger girls were waiting 
for them. 

The day was a perfect one, very warm and sum- 
mery for the time of year, and the young people 
all agreed that it was by no means too early in the 
season to enjoy themselves even in this al fresco fash- 
ion. 

They were to end with tea at the Star and 


A YOtTNG MUTlNfiEii. 1^7 

Garter/’ and they all started off now for this day’s 
pleasure in the highest spirits. 

Hilda was quite young enough to enjoy such a 
proceeding immensely. As space divided her from 
her little home in Philippa Terrace her spirits rose, 
and now, if Judy had only been by her side, she 
would have felt perfectly happy. 

By the time they reached Eichmond Park all trace 
of tears and sorrow had left her charming face, and 
she was one of the brightest and gayest of the com- 
pany. 

No one could make herself more useful than Hilda, 
and when her husband appeared on the scene he was 
a good deal astonished to see her flying lightly about, 
ordering and directing the arrangements of the picnic 
dinner. Her gay laughter floated to his ears on the 
summer breeze, her cheeks were bright, her eyes shin- 
ing. In short, she looked like that charming Hilda 
who had won his heart in the old rectory garden not a 
year ago. 

Hilda was busily helping to concoct a salmon 
mayonnaise, when, raising her eyes, she met her hus- 
band’s gaze. He smiled back at her a look of ap- 
proval and love, and her heart rose considerably. 

There were other people present besides J asper who 
thought Mrs. Quentyns a very beautiful young wo- 
man. There were others waiting to show her the most 
polite and gracious attentions, and these facts con- 
siderably enhanced her value in her husband’s eyes. 
In short, he began to fall in love with his wife over 
again, and Judy for the time being was forgotten by 
this pair. 

The day passed all too quickly, and at last the 
moment arrived when the little party must turn their 
steps homeward. 

‘‘You must both come home and have supper 


A YO0NG MUTINEER. 


ns 

with us,” said Lady Malvern to her nephew and his 
wife. Oh, yes, I shall take no denial ; and now, 
Jasper, will you drive Cynthia and her sister back 
to town ? I mean Hilda to accompany me.” 

Jasper was all smiles and good-humor. He was 
willing to accede to any arrangement which could 
add to the pleasures of the day, and Hilda, in whose 
heart a faint hope had lingered that she and her 
husband might have gone home together, followed 
Lady Malvern to her carriage with a little sigh. The 
whole party was soon driving home. Lady Malvern 
and Hilda had a small victoria to themselves. As 
soon as ever they left the rest of the party the older 
woman turned and gave a full glance at the girl by 
her side. 

‘‘Hilda,” she said suddenly, “you look better 
than you did this morning.” 

“ Oh, I feel better,” she replied. “ You have done 
me lots of good,” she continued, raising her eyes 
with an affectionate light in them to Lady Mal- 
vern’s kind face. 

“ I am delighted to have helped you, my love,” 
replied the elder lady ; “ and now, Hilda, I want to 
say something. You have been married very little 
over three months. It is a very common illusion with 
girls to imagine that married life is a time of per- 
petual bliss.” 

Hilda opened her lips to say something, but Lady 
Malvern interrupted. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ you must hear me out. 
Married life is not a bed of roses, and the first year 
which a young couple spend together is generally 
the hardest of all.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Mrs. Quentyns. 
“ Why the first year ? ” 

“ Because, my dear, the glamour is gradually being 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


179 


removed. The girl is finding that the hero whom she 
married is a right good fellow, but still that he is 
human; that he has his faults and his aggravations; 
that he needs to be humored and consulted and petted, 
and to have his smallnesses — ^yes, my dear, mark the 
word, his smallnesses — attended to. The husband is 
making similar discoveries with regard to the lovely 
angel whom he took to his arms. She, too, is mortal 
— affectionate, of course, and sweet and womanly, and 
ten thousand times better than a real angel would be 
to him, but still with her faults, her tempers, and her 
fads. The young couple discover these things in each 
other during the first two or three months of married 
life. All their future happiness depends on how they 
both act, under the influence of these discoveries. 
They have got to learn that though they are made 
one by the priest, they are both of them distinct in- 
dividualities. If they are to be happy together, they 
must both give and take. I know a married couple 
who are now the happiest, prosiest, most attached old 
pair in the world, who went through no end of storms 
during their first eventful year. But they learned a 
lesson and profited by it. The wife does not now 
think her husband the greatest hero that ever set foot 
on this earth, and the husband does not call his wife 
an angel ; but I think, if their love were analyzed, it 
would be found greater, deeper, and more tender than 
that early glamour which was love, but was not equal 
to the love tried by fire, which comes later in life. 
Now, my dear, you will forgive my little lecture. If 
you had need of it, ponder my words ; if not, forgive 
an old woman for worrying you. Hilda, what a 
sweet, pretty little house jmu have; I always knew 
Jasper had good taste, I am so truly glad that you 
have the same.” 

While Lady Malvern was speaking, Hilda pulled 


180 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


i 


down her veil, and struggled hard to keep the tears 
from her brown eyes. She could not quite manage 
this, however, and Lady Malvern, giving her a half 
glance, saw that her eyelashes were wet. 

She did not add any more in words, but she made 
up her mind to help the young girl by every means 
in her power. 

They drove on rapidly. The horses were fresh, 
and they were getting over the ground with great 
rapidity, when a quickly approaching train startled 
one of the horses. At the same time a man on a 
bicycle darted round the corner, and before he could 
help himself knocked against the carriage. The 
double shock was enough for the affrighted horses. 
They plunged, reared, and became unmanageable, 
and the next moment the little victoria was over- 
turned, and Lady Malvern and Mrs. Quentyns were 
flung with some violence on the pavement. Lady 
Malvern was not severely hurt, and she sprang al- 
most immediately to her feet, but the fright and fall 
had stunned Hilda, who lay white and still on the 
ground without any attempt at movement. The 
usual crowd of course collected, and it was on this 
scene that Quentyns, in high good-humor, and for- 
getting for the time being that there was a crumpled 
rose leaf in the world, suddenly came with some more 
of the picnic party. As a matter of course, they all 
drew up. Quentyns was driving a high dogcart. He 
sprang to the ground and ran into the midst of the 
crowd. Then for the first time he realized what had 
happened. His young wife, looking as if she were 
dead, was lying in Lady Malvern’s arms. Lady 
Malvern was seated on a doorstep. Some men were 
hastily coming forward with a shutter. 

‘‘ My God ! ” exclaimed Quentyns; is she dead? 

No, my dear boy, no — only stunned^^ ^aid Lady 


A Young mutineer. 


ISl 

Malvern. Here, take her into your own arms, Jas- 
per. You are stronger than I. Let her see your face 
first when she opens her eyes. No medicine will be 
so reviving as that.^^ 

Here a women came up and spoke to Lady Mal- 
vern. 

" I shall be only too pleased to have the young lady 
brought into my house, madam,” she said. A very 
good doctor lives just round the corner and he can be 
summoned at once.” 

Yes, yes; send for him immediately,” said Quen- 
tyns. 

He strode into the house with his light burden. 
Hilda was laid upon a sofa, and in a few moments 
the doctor arrived. He felt her all over and said 
that no bones were broken, and that no severe in- 
jury of any kind had occurred, but both fall and 
shock had been very severe. He counseled her being 
left undisturbed in her present condition until the 
morning. 

Then I will go home,” said Lady Malvern. You 
will look after her yourself, Jasper? ” 

Need you ask ? ” he replied. He followed his 
aunt to the door as he spoke. 

Hilda had a narrow escape of her life,” said 
Lady Malvern, looking full at her nephew as she 
spoke. How sudden and awful it all was ! There 
were we chatting together, and thinking no more of 
danger than if such a thing did not exist, when all 
in an instant came that awful bolt from the blue. I 
shall never forget the swinging of the carriage and 
the way the horses looked when they plunged and 
kicked about, or the white piteous face of your sweet 
little Hilda, who would not scream nor show any 
outward sign of terror. I thought it was all over with 
both of us — I did really, Jasper. I cannot tell you 


182 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


how thankful we ought to he that things are no 
worse.’^ 

You are sure then that Hilda is not in danger? ” 
queried the young man in a tremulous voice. 

No, no; what did you hear the doctor say, you 
silly boy? Perhaps the best thing that could have 
happened to Hilda was this accident, dreadful as it 
was for the moment. Perhaps — Jasper, I think you 
know what I mean.” 

‘^Has Hilda been talking about me?” asked Jas- 
per, a wave of red mounting to his brow. 

“ Talking about you ? ” replied his aunt, now thor- 
oughly angry ; only in the way that Hilda can talk 
of those whom she loves best on earth. Jasper, you 
are the luckiest man in the world, and if you don’t 
contrive to make that sweet child the happiest woman, 
I for one will have nothing to do with you again.” 

^^No fear, no fear, if she loves me in that way,” 
murmured Jasper. 

He turned abruptly on his heel and went back to 
the room where his wife lay. He was a very proud, 
reserved man, and even in moments of the deepest 
agitation would scarcely reveal his real sentiments. 
But that moment when he had looked at his wife’s 
white face and had thought that she was dead had 
shaken his whole nature to its very depths. He made 
a discovery then that nothing in all the world was 
of any real value to him compared with Hilda’s 
love. 

I have acted like a brute to her,” he murmured. 

Rivers was right. She’s too good for me — she’s 
fifty times too good for me. My God, how white 
she looks as she lies there! Suppose the doctor is 
wrong. Why doesn’t she speak or move? Why do 
they make so little of this continued unconsciousness ? 
I think I’ll go for some further advice. Oh, my dar- 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


183 


ling, my darling, if you are dead, if your sweet life 
has been taken, I shall never forgive myself — 
never ! 

But just then there was a faint stir of the heavily 
fringed lids which lay against Hilda’s white cheeks. 
The next moment the sweet brown eyes were opened 
wide, and Hilda looked into her husband’s face. 

‘‘What has happened?” she asked drowsily. “I 
don’t remember anything. Where are we ? ” 

“Together, Hilda,” he replied; “together. Does 
anything else really matter ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no,” she said, with a catch in her voice. 

Next day Mrs. Quentyns was so far convalescent 
as to be able to return to the little house in Philippa 
Terrace. Jasper, of course, accompanied her. They 
had found a good deal to say to each other, between 
the moment when she had opened her eyes the night 
before and now. Both had some things to confess — 
both had some words of forgiveness to crave from the 
other. So complete now had been the interchange of 
soul and of love between this pair that it seemed im- 
possible that anything could ever separate such warm 
hearts again. 

“And it has been all Judy’s doing,” said Jasper 
as they sat that evening in the little drawing-room. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked his wife. 

“Why,” he answered, “if Judy had not brought 
matters to a crisis by going away, we might have 
drifted further and further apart. But now we must 
have her back again, Hilda. She has fulfilled her 
mission, dear litle soul, and now she must have her 
reward.” 

“No,” said Hilda, in a firm voice. “Judy shall 
have her reward, but not by coming back. She did 
right to go. I could never, never have ?ent her away, 
but she did right to go,” 


184 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


you mean to tell me, Hilda, that you could 
be perfectly happy to live without her ? ’’ 

With you,’^ she said, laying her head on his arm, 
and looking into his face with her sweet eyes shining 
through tears. 

He put his arms round her and kissed her many 
times. 

J asper,” said Hilda after a few minutes, “ I 
think the first wrong step that I took — ^the first be- 
ginning of that unhappy time — was when I lost my 
temper down at Little Staunton and gave up my en- 
gagement ring.’^ 

“No wonder you lost your temper when I was 
such a brute about everything,” said Quentyns. “It 
was my fault.” 

“ No, no; it was mine.” 

“ Have you missed the ring, Hilda ? ” 

“ Missed it ? ” she held up her slender finger. “ My 
heart has been empty without it,” she said. 

“ Then let me put it on again for you.” 

“ Can you ? Is — isn’t it sold ? ” 

“ Of course not. Do you think that I could sell 
that ring?” 

“ But — but the furniture in Judy’s room? ” 

“ When I saw that you must have Judy with you, 
Hilda, I went into debt for the furniture. Oh, never 
mind all that now, my darling — the debt is paid in 
full a week ago, and I have the receipt in my pocket 
Now I am going upstairs to fetch the ring.” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


186 


CHAPTER XIX. 

GOOD OMENS. 

And SO the shadows fall apart. 

And so the west winds play; 

And all the windows of my heart 
I open to the day. 

— Whittieb. 

Mildred Anstruther was paying a visit at the 
rectory on the day that Rivers and Judy walked in. 
Rivers was a very striking-looking man, and all the 
rectory people were so devoured with curiosity about 
him, and so interested in all he said and did — in his 
reasons for coming down to Little Staunton, and in 
his remarks about the Quentyns — that J udy’s own re- 
turn to the family circle passed into utter insignifi- 
cance. She w^as there — ^they had none of them ex- 
pected her, and as she chose to come back, she was 
welcome, of course. 

It was a lovely day, and the whole party were out 
in the garden, when Rivers and his little charge en- 
tered their midst. 

Judy wore her green cloak and pretty black shady 
hat. There was a new sort of picturesqueness about 
her, which Aunt Marjorie noticed in an abstracted 
way; she put it down to ^^the polish which even a 
short residence in the metropolis always gives ; ” she 
had not the faintest idea that it was due to the dig- 
nity which a noble action can inspire. 


18G 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 


Judy greeted every one quite in her old manner, 
and was rather glad that she was not fussed over, but 
taken quite as a matter of course. 

Aunt Marjorie was too anxious about the cream 
for Rivers’ tea to give serious thoughts to any one 
else just then. But when the young man had de- 
parted to catch the return train to London, then a 
few questions were asked of Judy. 

thought you were going to live with Hilda,” 
said Mildred, looking curiously at the child. 

Mildred was standing a little apart from the others, 
and Judy, whose face was pale, for the suffering of 
her self-sacrifice was still causing her heart to ache 
horribly, looked full at her, and said in a low 
voice : 

‘^That turned out to be a mistake, so I’ve come 
home.” 

You brave little darling! ” said Mildred, under- 
standing everything like a flash; she stooped and 
kissed J udy on her forehead. 

Babs came rushing into the midst of the 
group. 

Judy, Judy, I want you,” she cried. 

What is it ? ” asked J udy. 

There’s a butterfly coming out of a chrysalis in 
the butterfly-case; come quick — he’s moving his tail 
backward and forward — ^he’ll soon be out ; come quick 
and see him.” 

The dull look left J udy’s eyes ; they sparkled with 
a sudden, swift, childish joy. 

She took Babs’ hand, and they rushed away, right 
round to the back of the house where the butterfly- 
case stood. 

Let’s take him out, poor darling,” she said ; let’s 
put him on a leaf^ and watch hini as he gets out of 
bis prison,” 


A YOUNG MUTINEER. 187 

Her eyes grew brighter and brighter ; she bent low 
to watch the resurrection which was going on. 

After all the chrysalis and the butterfly were em- 
blems. They were good omens to Judy that love and 
hope were not dead. 


THE END. 


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